


Cellular Desperation

by tomlinblows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, End of the World, F/M, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomlinblows/pseuds/tomlinblows
Summary: There's always somebody you need to find before the lights go out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> its been over a year since i started this. i gave it everything i have. be kind. appreciate life. and this story is dedicated to the greatest love.

**_An hour left._ **

 

 

Maybe bathtubs aren't supposed to hold more than one person at a time, Dean thinks to himself, wisps of brown hair occasionally sweeping underneath his chin, making every muscle in his body tense. Frothy clumps of bubbles float around them and it reminds him all too much of the way Pangea broke apart. Maybe everything was a Pangea at one point. Maybe they all come together again to form the universe, all blue eyes and addictive laughter, all Dean’s, all planted contently between his legs. 

 

Cas combs his fingers through fizzling white foam bumping his upper thigh and lifts it up with his hands, settling at his chest. He lets it rest there and searches for Dean’s hands, finding them against his hips like a boat thumping against a dock, and weaves their fingers together- Cas’ hands atop Dean’s. He scoops up a bubble clump. “Say this was the entire universe. What would you do?”

 

Dean lets out a sigh, his head beginning to swarm and fingers trembling with nervousness. How did he get here? Dean wants to take it and throw it across the porcelain tub until it’s far, far away from reality’s inexorable destruction. Say that _was_ the whole universe- what would he do? Suddenly the bubble feels heavy in his palms- as if it truly carries the weight of the world, that every single atom is entangled together between his shaky fingertips, and he slides his hands from between Castiel’s hold, leaving the universe to hold the universe. Cas wiggles his abandoned fingers around in the foam. Somewhere, the real universe smiles down at what she put beautifully, inevitably, catastrophically together, sitting in a bathtub overwhelmed with tropically scented soap. Somewhere, the real universe prepares for what’s to come. Milky radiance too harsh to be the sun pans in from the window, hard against their faces, and Dean closes his eyes, feeling the heat settle upon his cheeks. She’s ready. Dean knows it. 

 

_Say this was the entire universe,_ Dean repeats in his head, _what would he do?_ He’d take tweezers and crack it open, a steady hand reaching inside and he’d fix the little things. World peace, no war, the whole beauty pageant contestant speech- but on his hand’s way out, he’d pause right around his neighborhood. He’d change the course of his life, the whole thing, and he’d meet Castiel much earlier, and Cas would be older and everything could make sense. They would be so happy. In another life, perhaps, Dean really was offered the universe, and he found the courage to stick his hand inside. It’s a comforting thought to him. The alarm on his phone goes off; fifty-nine minutes. Cas looks down sadly and prepares to get out of the tub. 

 

Dean kisses Cas’ temple and doesn't remove his lips when he speaks. “I’d give it to you.” 

 

 

**_12 days left._ **

 

 

Pale sunlight poured in through the slits of his blinds when he opened his eyes because he always sets his alarm two minutes after the sunrise. He thinks it should be admired but not anticipated. Toes wiggle familiarly around in their slippers and the warmth of a chipped long-faded coffee mug fills the creases in his palm with warmth. When he reaches the balcony, his knees have settled in for the day so he barely wobbles with uncertainty each time his heel touches the concrete. He rests his hand- the clammy, mug-less one- gently against the chilled metal railing and his wing-like shoulder bones sigh with him. Shadows from his eyelashes wave over his cheeks when the sunshine clouds them just right, and the blades of grass far below, straightening their posture and releasing their early scent, think his piercing blue eyes could cut them up to bits. 

 

And of course, if you asked Dean- who two windows over is frantically clambering over a whining step-son and a disheveled wife for the red tie, not the blue one, not on a Wednesday- he would strongly agree. Dean flicked the light switch on and off three times before leaving his bedroom but only retied his right shoe twice before his wife kissed his cheek, smoothed his cuffs, and only had to shut the door once behind him because Lisa, of course, was normal. Disgustingly, overwhelmingly normal. Dean’s wife wore Birkenstock’s and primary colored shirts to yoga class every Thursday afternoon and insisted (demanded) the color of their sticker clad family van wasn't a shade less than candy apple red. God _forbid_ Dean ever got the chance to take Baby out for a spin with Ben. Dean hated red, and apples, and her stupid fucking yoga classes and the way she colored her hair to match all the other mother’s and especially, oh God, _especially_ the forsaken smell of those goddamn Glade Plug-Ins she scattered all over the house. Lisa always woke them up before dawn and had the balcony removed earlier that spring; ‘a safety-hazard for the children.’ 

 

Four door handle tugs later, Dean’s smiling too widely up at the scruffy man on the balcony two houses over who’s leaning against the railing like a prince reigning over his territory. For some reason, every time the man smiles Dean forgets all about his anxiety. Lisa, for some other reason, only boils it to the surface. The sleepy brown-haired boy starts to say something. “You look like shit.” 

 

“Good morning to you too,” Dean pushes out a laugh and points a thumb towards his house. “But yeah, you know. Kids.” 

 

“I’ve heard of them.” He crinkles by his eyes when he giggles and his dumb legs are crossed as he tightens his fingers around the Yellow Submarine mug resting contently between his palms. Dean can feel every forceful beat of his heart. 

 

“I work. I mean I _have_ work- _I have work now._ I have to get to work.” 

 

Son of a bitch. 

 

“You should probably do that. See you, Dean.” 

 

The neighbor’s sliding glass door creaks shut by the time Dean’s seatbelt clicks and he wills the urge to click it twenty-five more times away because it’s barely past seven in the morning and he’s already fucked up the most important thing he had planned all day. The road to work is crowded as usual and each time he slams his breaks, the bones in his feet twitch. He stops for coffee even though it always makes him late. Today he taps in two and a half sugars because it’s tax season and he’ll need the energy, so he bounces his fingers on the steering wheel when he rolls out of the drive-thru and tries to recall exactly how it is the beautiful boy on the balcony knew his name. 

 

 

***

 

 

Noon hits and eleven year old Ben Braeden watches his blood hit the marble kitchen counter of his middle-class suburban home. A woman much prettier and younger than his mom is cleaning his bloody knee with peroxide and paper towels and muttering comforting words she thinks he understands. Ben can’t help his eyes fall to below her neck but he doesn't know why. They just like it there. 

 

“Benjamin, how many times have I told you about leaving your bike in the middle of the street!” The front door opens then closes three times and when Dean enters the kitchen, it’s the first time he’s seen eyes so wide that don’t belong to an owl. The lady kneeling in front of him stands up and starts to laugh. 

 

“I was just running to the store and when I backed out of my garage I heard an unusual noise. I guess that was your Benjamin. I barely tapped him though, he just scraped his knee, so I asked him where he lived so I could clean him up. I’m so, so sorry- I’m an idiot- please don’t press charges.” 

 

“Charges I won’t bother with, but I’m pretty certain my wife will find out and that is infinitely worse.” 

 

Ben watched Dean laugh, which was a sight for sore eyes around there. The lady shook his hand and when they pulled away, Dean ran his pointer finger around the edges of his thumb like he did whenever Mom was about to yell.

 

“So you come home for lunch? That’s kinda cool.” She said, packing away the first-aid while Dean took a seat at the kitchen island after pulling out a sandwich from the fridge. 

 

“Sometimes, when I’m able to squeeze out half an hour for break.” Ben jumps down and asks to return to the neighbor’s house to finish his dense game of Cops and Robbers with their son, who was older in age but not in mentality, and Dean rustles his hair on his step son’s dash out the door. The chair across from him is no longer unoccupied and he feels like he can hear every noise in his body when he chews. Being around people was never much of a strong suit, not since he was young. “So who exactly are you?”

 

“Oh! Sorry, hi, I’m Charlie Bradbury. I’m your neighbor’s temporary roommate.” She flashes Dean a smile and wavers her hands around before dragging them through her hair. Dean takes note of her bright green shirt beneath a flannel- a personal touch Dean likes as well- and the words ‘world’ and ‘warcraft’ printed on it. She certainly seems interesting. 

 

“Pleased to meet you,” he beams between a mouthful of lettuce. “I wasn't aware there were two of you in there.”

 

Outside, the sun shifts and offers her a shadowy visage. “Yup, Castiel and I. Or Cas, he’d rather have me say- artsy little shit he is. You two meet?”

 

Dean grumbles behind sliced turkey and shakes his head. “Not formally.” His eyes slip behind Charlie’s autumn waves and peer outside the window, a shirtless ‘Castiel’ raking a pile of leaves into his garage. How strange. Dean’s wristwatch beeps and if the end of the world had a single sound, this would be it, he thinks. 

 

“Well there we have it, then! I’ve been taking cooking classes down at the Rec for about two months and Cas won't even _breathe_ _in_ a single thing I concoct. You and the misses should bring your lungs over and join us for dinner.”

 

Dean’s never felt heartburn so quickly in his life as he tosses his trash in the can before tightening his tie back up to his neck and hoping it choked him to death before he has the chance to answer. “Dinner sounds… great.”

 

“Tomorrow! And remember, if you bail, we can see your living room light on.”

 

She winks before sauntering out his front door and Dean, the wistful, bored, average five-to-nine man should be mesmerized by the perkiness of his bubbly new neighbor’s ass as she fades off, but catches his eyes a few feet to the right, to another perky ass, with a rake aggressively tight in grip and a (probably) massive- no. No, no, _no._ He slams his eyes shut in shame and when Castiel cocks his head over, Dean Winchester cracks and crumbles to the ground like a cookie. Oh god. They’re going to have to move. 

 

 

***

 

 

When technology prodigy Charlie Bradbury passes her roommate on her way into their shared living space, she scoffs at him. “You’re lucky you have me to get away with being a pussy your whole life.” 

 

Cas shrivels his expression without glancing up from his raking. “Excusez moi?” 

 

“That buff daddy you have a hard-on for across the street. I asked them to dinner here tomorrow night.” 

 

“Nice work Sherlock,” Cas chuckles. “Maybe we could threesome before dessert. Are you incompetent? He’s married with kids. Let dreams be dreams.”

 

“Yeah well those _dreams_ are raising our electricity bill because you can’t keep a pair of bedsheets dry.” 

 

“It could be you, baby,” Cas curls half his mouth into a smirk, raising his arms at her. She rolls her eyes and trudges inside. “Come on! Like your sheets are any Sahara.” 

 

“What are you even doing?” She stops short, wrapping her fingers around the edge of the door, cocking an eyebrow. Cas smiles down at his pile of faded leaves and jagged sticks scattered around the driveway. 

 

“It’s for my next piece; I’m trying one of the three dimensional’s like I saw at the showing last week. I’m going to crush up leaves and shit and fill them into human body sculptures, substituting stardust and all that crap people believe in. Oh— remind me to pick up glitter.”

 

“People as in you,” Charlie laughs. “Why not just use actual stardust?” 

 

Cas tilts his head to the side, “And where do you suppose I get that? NASA continues to ignore my emails, I’ve ranted to you about it for…” Without warning, she lets the door close behind her and carries herself lightly over to where he’s standing. Leaning over the pile, a string of saliva splats onto the leaves and they crunch together with Cas’ groan of annoyance. 

 

“Why, oh my goodness, there’s some right there!” She exclaims with a horrible adaptation of a southern drawl.

 

“You think you're clever, Moondoor, but truthfully you're just a nuisance.” He replies, leaning down to rearrange his sticks. Charlie flips him the bird and Castiel Novak’s laughter echoes throughout the cul-de-sac, stardust and all. 

 

 

**_11 days left._ **

 

 

The stench of green bean casserole makes bile literally rise into Dean’s throat as he fingers through his cologne collection. He snatches the tall blue bottle in the back Sam got him for Christmas last year which got him laid New Years Eve- not that that matters here. It just smells inviting, that’s all. Once-overing himself in the mirror, he slides off his trucker flannel and puts on the maroon shirt Sam also got him last year over his infamous black t-shirt. _Maybe dark jeans would look better,_ he ponders, _wait- I don’t give a fuck?_ Dean heads downstairs and before he even can blink, he’s ushered out the door with casserole-clad arms, barely rewarded the chance to greet the babysitter. 

 

They skedaddle a whopping thirty feet over to Charlie and Castiel’s and when his wife rings the doorbell, the Game of Thrones theme song blares throughout the house. Dean laughs, like really laughs, and Lisa elbows him in the ribs. “Stop it, she’s right here.” 

 

“Hola, bitches!” Charlie grins ear to ear as she shuffles them inside, peeling the hot tray from Dean’s arms and dragging her nose across it. Dean pities her poor nostrils. 

 

“I’m sorry, I know you’re cooking I just felt so out of place showing up empty-handed; hope you like green beans!” 

 

“Like ‘em? I consider them Satan’s best work,” Charlie says it so innocently that when Lisa’s face falls, Dean bursts at the seam with giggles. This girl is a _trip._ “But you’re in luck. Castiel’s only other friends are vegetables so I can assure you this will be the peak of his weekend.” 

 

Lisa fake laughs, shaking her head slightly. “Castiel?” 

 

“Dean didn't tell you? I’m his temp roommate! Before me was his step-brother, but Gabriel finally earned up enough cash to upgrade and now he owns a bunch of nightclubs in Miami. I think they got in a fight or something- he doesn’t talk much about family. This is more Cas’ place than anybody’s, though. I found his ad pinned up inside the supermarket a few weeks ago, and it’s close to my new job; I just graduated. Man, I am _so_ rambling. How’d you two meet?” 

 

Dean desperately wants to ask where Castiel is, but he begins telling the most boring story of all time instead. He’s asked Lisa if they could make something cool up for when people ask but she insisted that love is truthful and so are friends. Fuck, here we go. “The garage I worked at. I was a mechanic and one day this lady pulls up with this _fucked_ bumper and she was all hysterical because she’d never had a fender-bender in her life, the Saint. Anyway, I fix her car-”

 

“Ugh, Dean’s not one for the chick-flick moments, but it totally was one. Like, I never have an accident _in my life-_ then here’s this gorgeous mechanic! So he was like, covered in oil and black guck, but the second he wiped off his face with a rag it was like beneath all that dirt was pure gold. I was a goner!” She waves his chin around in her hand and Dean cranks out a tight smile. 

 

“That sounds, like, totally so cute!” Charlie mocks, blowing over Lisa’s head and they head into the kitchen on the sounds of Dean’s vicious laughter. He saunters into the hallway, hand grazing his aching stomach and glancing over the miscellaneous prices of art on the walls. Everything is vibrant and abstract and before he realizes it, his eyes aren't on the wall anymore. Leaking past his bedroom door is a shaggy haired Castiel with painted fingers and he elbows open the bathroom door. He doesn't spot Dean so he takes slow steps forward, sticking his neck into the bathroom still unnoticed. He pulls back; _don’t be a stalker._ He turns on his heels for the kitchen but stops short at the sight of Cas’ room through the wide slit of his door. With his bottom lips shredded between his teeth, he cautiously steps inside. The walls are all different colors and patterns but it’s all painted by him, Dean tells, because it’s so cluttered but still organized and it’s a lot like Cas, really, from what Dean’s picked up on over the weeks through friendly chats and small waves and sometimes, _sometimes,_ a flower-blossoming laugh. 

 

“If you’re looking for the kitchen you’re in the wrong room,” Dean gasps, so startled the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he jolts forward. Cas stands with a smug little grin and drags a rag throughout his fingers before disregarding it onto an oversized pile of laundry. 

 

“Sorry, I was just… you paint?”

 

“I try,” Cas says. “That’s all painting is. Trial and error. There’s not really a science to it, or a rulebook. That’s what I like best about it.” 

 

Dean bites back a teenage blush. “Simmer down, indie major. You’re really, really talented. This stuff’s amazing.” 

 

“That’s very kind of you to say. Who paid you?” 

 

Dean smiles, the pores on his face nearly leaking with nervousness. “You know, I uh… ever since you moved in here, I wanted to get to know you.”

 

“That’s interesting,” Cas replies. “Considering you’re married and all.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I say I wanted to get to know you or fuck the shit out of you?” 

 

“Woah, quarterback, I won’t tell. I think it’s flattering.” Cas smirks. “And for the record, I wanted to get to know you too. I’m just busting your balls because it’s entertaining to watch you get all defensive.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbles, running a palm along his jeans to dry the sweat. “I don’t have a crush on you.”

 

“I don’t have a crush on you, either. I’m a bit old for that.” They both advert their gaze anywhere but each other, tension in the air growing thicker by the minute. 

 

“Ah, to be twenty-four. Try thirty-one sometime, you might hate it.”

 

They laugh and Cas steps forward, motioning for Dean to follow him into his closet. Dean scrunches up his face in confusion and Cas lazily rolls his eyes.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not a gay thing. I want to show you something.” Dean’s eyebrows raise so high they just about leave his head as an excitement rush pumps through his veins because _Castiel likes guys._ The closet is more spacious then it looks but Cas stays close to Dean, so close their fingers brush, so close they can see each other’s eyes blink through pitch black. “Ready?” Cas asks, and Dean hears a bulb ignite to life before they’re glowing. Dean had a black light in college and Sam loaded him up with cool zombie posters that they thought looked ‘so fucking metal.’ Painted on Cas’ walls aren't monsters, but stars, and planets, and comets and asteroids and galaxies and black holes… but no Earth. 

 

“There’s no Earth cause we’re Earth. I mean, we walk upon Earth. But if we were really her, this is what we’d see. Cool, right?” Cas smiles through blue teeth. 

 

Dean chuckles, eyes trailing around the walls a million miles per hour. “It’s like your own little world in here.” 

 

“When I was teen-angsty and deep, I thought Earth could be someone’s own little world. Like maybe we’re just a science fair project sitting on some bedroom shelf in a solar system way far away. Or maybe we’re so lonely that we have to construct comforting thoughts like that in order to feel not-so-unimportant; to think that humans exist other places. How self-righteous.” 

 

Dean’s head is swarming with thoughts and images and shit, that’s so much to take in. He just came over for an introductory meal and Cas has completely drowned him in all these new emotions; holiday presents beneath the tree in his mind he’s never unwrapped before. Dean is so, so in trouble. And before he knows it, he can’t tear his eyes away from the soft boy in front of him, head thrown back in laughter and Dean watches little stars leak out of him and burrow to the closet walls. He looks so genuinely happy. When they meet eyes again, the gravitational pull of outer space strings them closer together until their lips are just moon rocks apart, one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind apart, when the closet door swings open and they clutch their eyes in abrupt pain. 

 

“Dinner is served, señor bitches!” 

 

They all gathered awkwardly at the table, Lisa next to Dean and Dean across from Cas, while Charlie brought out multiple dishes of food until each of their wine glasses knocked into something no matter where they set it down. Dean liked Charlie a lot, he did, but this chicken paprikash was worse than sex with tipsy Lisa (which Dean learned three Halloween’s ago was very, very bad). Luckily Charlie’s extraordinarily modest and tossed the remainder in the trash, but when she began dialing for a pizza Lisa pushed back her chair. 

 

“This was so lovely but unfortunately we only paid the babysitter two hours.” Lisa expressed the not-so-frown she gave Dean when he used to hint at getting lucky and Charlie groaned, setting down the phone. Cas stood up and hung back with Dean as the girls made their way to the door after Lisa retrieved her empty casserole dish. Their knuckles skimmed together for a second until they both pulled back, too unsure. Lisa waved Dean over once she was outside and he hugged Charlie goodbye. 

 

“Thanks for bearing through this,” Dean snickers in her ear. 

 

“Oh please, I invited you, remember?” She replies. 

 

“You invited _me_. You never met Lis.” 

 

“Touché,” she grins. Cas steps forward and reaches an arm around Charlie’s back. Dean thinks they would have very _intriguing_ looking children and almost laughs to himself. “Next time we should so totally, like, just have you over.” 

 

Neither of them look away from Dean when they high-five. “Nice impression, Bradbury.” 

 

“Dean! Pre-algebra is retarded!” Dean turns his head at the sound of Ben calling out for him, showered and pajama’d. His heart feels warm beneath his skin. 

 

“Duty calls. Have a good night, you two.” 

 

“G’night, Dean.” Cas exposes a small smile beneath his rosy cheeks and Charlie disappears from his side, leaving the two of them on a doorstep beneath millions of glittering lights in the sky. They could very well be a freaking postcard when Dean hears Ben yelling again and Cas just barely catches his words through the door closing.

 

“Okay,” Dean blurts out, tripping back. “You too. I mean goodnight, too. Because you said goodnight so I’m saying it back, is what I meant. Not like- you know what, forget it. _Goodnight.”_

 

 

**_8 days left._ **

 

Frosted Flakes turn soggy too early. On this particular Monday morning, that isfact. Ben is wearing two different colored socks because Dean tried doing a load of laundry last night when Lisa was out and tie-dyed all the whites. Fact: Lisa, chatting away on the phone with a pan of eggs in one hand and milk in the other, doesn't like her friends as much as she claims to and prays for a power line cut. Dean stares down at his bitter milky brown coffee and misses the many directions Cas' milky brown hair quiffs. The asphalt outside is scorching for a normally brisk September day, the clouds almost nonexistent, the familiar feeling of planet Earth just... off. And it wasn't because of the watery eggs sinking in Dean's stomach. Things were achey all on their own. 

 

"Son of a bitch!" Ben yells at the television screen when his cartoons are intercepted by the morning news broadcast. 

 

"Hey," Lisa warns. Dean turns up the volume, wiping at his mouth with the end of his tie. 

 

"Does that say-" 

 

"Shh," Dean quiets her, volume at the maximum. The woman onscreen had puffy eyes and horribly smudged makeup, the sleeves of her olive blouse sliding off her trembling shoulders. The man, however, sported a broad smile and waved a hand up to the corner of the screen, the headline reading **ASTEROID SET TO ABOLISH EARTH: 7 DAYS**

 

_“…Countries all around the world rose into an unwavering panic this morning at the breaking newscast that Earth as we know it is currently set to be annihilated in the sudden time span of just under one-hundred and sixty-eight hours. Desperation and controversy has ridden the planet, scientists arguing a repeat of the 2012 apocalypse scare but this doesn't seem to relate to any Mayan predictions. Slipping past our surveillance last night was an asteroid three times the size of Earth with a sustained course straight ahead. Unfortunately, any plans to prevent the monstrous impact of the blow would be far too late, NASA released earlier in an article to the public, also stating their dire condolences and maps to safety shelters in each city. Warnings to stay off the roads due to dangerous weather conditions to come should be taken into high consideration and us here at Channel 6 News will do our best to provide updates throughout the course of the next- last week, for anybody tuning in, but sadly this is going to be our final official live broadcast. It has been a pleasure delivering the news to you all for the past twenty-eight years. We bid you a safe goodbye, America.”_

 

The television screen resumes back to it’s primarily programmed stream of morning cartoons but Lisa switches the cable off, nobody daring to move, and Dean decides to step outside if the silence didn't kill him first. His lungs fill withair when he takes a deep breath which shouldn't be anything to think about but now it’s easily everything and he finds himself at Castiel’s front door knocking until his knuckles are pink. 

 

“Dean?” Cas rubs sleep out of his eyes. “I’m not a fan of worms; this early bird _will_ slam the door in your face.” 

 

“I’m going to come inside and you're going to sit down,” Dean couldn't stop his voice from shaking if he steadied it out with his own nimble fingers. “Because there’s something you have to know and you really aren't going to like it, okay?” 

 

“Is this about the whole world obliteration announcement?” 

 

Dean sits him down roughly. “You know?” 

 

“I caught it on the internet an hour ago, thought it was speculation- but then I turned on Channel 7, then CNN, then NBC… Charlie already bailed for Ohio; told me to tell you to be safe.” 

 

“Are you scared?” Dean’s tongue swipes across his gnawed lips. “I’m scared. Real scared, Cas. Ben… he’s never gonna… I’m never… _Oh, god._ ”

 

Instantly Dean crashes into Cas’ smaller frame, sobs wracking his shoulders like aftershocks of a quake and Cas just holds him until the sleeves of his shirt are dripping with water and snot and Dean can breathe evenly again. He cries for a long time and waits for Cas to join, or push him off, or move them off the couch and tell Dean to get a grip- but they stay just like that. And Dean feels better.

 

“I don’t think I’ll have time to really be scared. Hypothetically I am, deep down, and every time I’ve ever been asked ‘if the world ended tomorrow’ questions, I thought of myself terrified, crippled with fear even, but I can’t be. I don’t have enough room on the clock to feel much, and I’ll be damned if it’s fear.” 

 

“I love that boy so, so much,” Dean croaks. “But I can’t… I can’t be with Lisa, and she’s going to take him, and we never even got to bond because it’s so new and he’s so young and thinks I’m weird, and I have nowhere to go and nothing even fucking matters because we’re all going to die in a week. Seven fucking days. Fuck.” 

 

“Dean!” Cas yells, shaking him by the chest. “Yes, we’re going to cease to exist soon. Yes, nothing remotely matters but forget it, forget all of that, okay? For me. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? We’ll go together, if you want, you and I. We can load up the Impala.” 

 

Cas is right, Dean decides, they have to leave. Dean’s going to leave behind the only chance he’s had at a child, a wife, a house of his own, a job, an apple pie life as he knows it, because in 10,080 minutes none of it will have even existed. He married Lisa just over a year ago, and the first few months were wonderful, really, and Ben grew comfortable around him quicker than anticipated. Dean was good with kids but never saw himself settling down so domestically. He knew he wasn't ready to propose but the pressure, _the pressure,_ it all happened so unnaturally to him. Lis saw through it all of course, caring more about the number of wedding guests on her side of the family than what she felt in her chest. Was it ever love between them? No. Dean would have to say no. And Lisa would just be too busy to even consider such a question. 

 

“Sam,” Dean sputters, Cas curving his brows in curiosity. “I have to see Sam.” 

 

 

***

 

 

When he steps foot back in his house, everywhere he steps feels like the cold spots they mention on paranormal investigation shows he used to binge watch with Ben. Hell, you could turn off all the lights and shove an EMF detector in his hand right now and he’d be just as wary. Things were never this silent- not like this. Finally, he spots Ben laying on the couch, hands by his sides and eyes vast. 

 

“Ben,” he whispers hoarsely, the lump in his throat thick. 

 

He flickers his glare up. The kid’s eyes never looked so empty. “Mom’s in the garage. It was nice knowing you, Dean.” 

 

“Don’t you do that,” Dean snivels. “Not to me. You save that kind of talk for someone who doesn't care about you, you hear? If I was strong enough to grab that asteroid by the ears and swing it the other direction so that you could have a life, don’t think for a damn second I would hesitate! I’m so sorry, Ben.” He stutters his words as a sentence swirls around the tip of his tongue but never quite makes it out.

 

“But you have to go. I heard it from my real father, D, I practically have it memorized so save your breath and just go!” By the time he starts yelling he has to stop because his mouth is filled with fresh hot tears and Dean kneels down and gathers him up into his arms. He’s just as small as he was when they first met but his boyish B-O is now somewhat subsiding. Dean chuckles into the crook of his neck and wipes away tears behind Ben’s back. 

 

“It’s not like that this time, kiddo. I would’ve stayed with you for all the time in the world if I could, but I have someone I need to go see, okay? Remember my brother Sam?”

 

Ben nods, Dean’s thumbs swiping beneath his eyes. “You stay here and take good care of your mom, understand? You tell her you love her, and you… you keep her safe, and I… I love you, kid. So much.” 

 

“Love you too, Dad,” Ben weeps into his chest and _fuck,_ that hurts. Dean grabs Ben’s face between his hands and takes in as many little details as he can before pressing his lips against his forehead and heading towards the garage. He slips his fingers around the door’s edge and creaks it all the way open before stepping inside. Hands pressed around the sides, Lisa’s head hangs low between her shoulders perched against the washing machine. When he treads closer, he faintly makes out tears dropping onto something blue before she speaks. 

 

“I wore this,” she sniffled. “The day we met. It has a mustard stain on the collar ‘cause I was running late, you know me.” She tries a laugh. “Or maybe you don’t. I just wanted a normal life, Dean. I wanted to be a good mother and marry a dedicated father and be safe. I knew the moment I married you that _that_ was what was going to be what set us apart. You were too decent of a man to cheat, so when you started coming home late or leaving early I knew you were just trying to get away from me. I still don't know which I prefer, to be honest.”

 

She sucked in a laugh again and Dean was behind her now, reaching a hand up to shift her hair to one side. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and nuzzled his face afterwards, waiting for her to pull away. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “For everything. I’m so sorry.” 

 

Her smile dies into a frown and Dean looks up at her soaked lashes. “I know.” 

 

“I have to go see Sam.” 

 

Lisa turns slowly so they’re forehead to forehead while their noses bump. “This is the last time I’m going to see you, Dean Winchester. My husband. My light. I’ll have you know that was not on my to-do list this morning.” 

 

Dean kisses her cheek and places a hand behind her head, pushing her under his chin as her breathing quickens into dry, painful sobs. Dean feels like the guilt strings on his heart are being tugged on each time she wraps a fist into his t-shirt or whimpers out unfulfilled plans. Maybe he didn't love her, but part of him could've at one time, and that part weighs his blood down to lead when he tries to move. Agonizingly, he peels her away from his chest and lets her kiss him one final time. 

 

“I love you,” she whines. 

 

Part of him, at one time, says it back, and maybe seven days from now she’ll hear it- in this moment, though, Dean breathes in her shampoo and leaves her collapsed in the garage, legs mangled to her chest, clawing at the concrete as if pieces will fall out so she can build the world back together again, screaming only one name, over and over, until Ben rushes in with a blanket and Dean exits the house soundlessly. 

 

 

***

 

 

“You don't have family you need to see?” Dean asks from the passenger seat, the first words spoken an hour into the drive to Lawrence. He’s only sat in this spot maybe twice in his life, and it feels off. It feels reserved for someone else- someone with stupidly long hair and a knack for salads. 

 

Cas keeps his eyes on the road while his fingers tense. “We said our goodbye’s a long time ago. You and I have a limited number of conversations we can have until the entire planet is demolished and it’s nothing I’m really dying to talk about.” 

 

Dean doesn't say anything else until they reach the next road stop, loading up on gallons of gas, snacks and water until the Impala is stuffed to the roof. Dean didn't seem like the classic car type at first glance, but Cas couldn't wait to babble on with him about whatever the hell he was hiding under that sleek black hood since the day his moving trucks pulled in. 

 

“So this Sam,” Peanuts spill out of Cas’ mouth as he wraps an arm around Dean’s seat, backing out. “He’s your little brother?” 

 

“Yeah.” Dean laughs a little. “Smartest damn kid you’ll ever meet.” 

 

“And you said he’s a lawyer down in Lawrence, right? How does one start at Stanford and end up back in Kansas?” 

 

“Missed home, I guess. Sam left when he got accepted. Our Dad, he uh- he didn't like the whole Stanford idea- wanted Sam to go into the family business as a mechanic, but the kid was too damn smart to waste his brain away as a grease monkey, even I knew that, and I clung to the kid like a clothespin to a wire. I didn't want him to leave and I was angry for a long time. Long time.” 

 

“What happened?” Cas asked, his eyes tender. “That made things better again, I mean.” 

 

“Our Dad had a stroke a few years ago and brought us back together for his funeral. All we had left was each other. Our Mom passed in a house fire when we were in high school. No grand-parents. We were close with our Uncle Bobby but he wasn't blood, and he had his life over in Soux Falls, so Sammy and I hit the road for a couple months and the rest is rock-and-roll history. After the stroke Sam took over the house and just kind of settled in. He’s doing good, he tells me.” 

 

“That is good.” Cas glances over at Dean staring out the window, chewing on his bottom lip. “And I’m sorry about your parents.”

 

A melancholy sweeps over the two of them, Dean sulking further down in his seat until his foot taps against a box of cassette tapes. He fingers through them, groaning at the exposure of his classic rock alter-ego, until Dean hums in amusement and slides one in. Hearing it at first, Cas denies his lips from curling upwards until he turns his head and looks over at Dean. He waits so they can share it together.

 

_Carry on my wayward son,_

_There’ll be peace when you are done_

_Lay your weary head to rest_

_Don’t you cry no more_

 

Immediately the song starts and Cas cackles. “This is sad, Dean. _Sad._ ”

 

“Then why do you know all the words?” 

 

Catching himself belting along, Cas scowls. “Shut up.”

 

_“Once I rose above the noise and confusion, just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion,”_ They shout. _“I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high.”_

 

_Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man_

_Though my mind could think I still was a mad man_

_I hear the voices when I’m dreaming,_

_I can hear them say…_

 

The clouds in the sky shake until they scatter, emitting burnt sienna as the blistering asphalt thumps the Impala forward. The song fades out, troubles long forgotten as Dean skims his fingers along his outdated music collection, the evening work traffic never emerging. They make it to Sam’s by nightfall, only to find the house empty, a note taped to the door. 

 

**To Sam,**

 

**I love you. I’m sorry.**

 

**Jess**

 

***

 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, fingers sliding around the keyboard as if he’s never held a cellphone before. Sam picks up on fourth ring. Cas frowns, too far away to make out what’s being said on the other line, but studies the amount of times Dean’s expression changes. 

 

“Where the hell are you, man?” He growls into the receiver, tears welling in his eyes. Cas adverts his gaze elsewhere. “No, there’s no girl here. Sam what’s-” His eyebrows sink down before his head drops, a soft cry escaping out before his lips purse back together and he wipes a hand under his nose. “Okay.” Dean tilts the phone away from his ear and against his chin before Cas steps over to gather him up all too familiarly. He can hear Sam through the phone better now, and he can hear him mourning. Dean fists the back of Cas’ hoodie until he hears the seams start to tear. 

 

“I’m in my car. Shit, are you still there?” Sam statics. 

 

“I’m parked outside! I’m here. Son of a bitch, Sam…” Dean mewls, breathing in Castiel’s detergent. “Come home.”

 

***

 

Two hours later, Dean hears rubble being crushed in the driveway and headlights wave before his eyes. For a few fleeting moments before he fully regains consciousness, he forgets the never-ending tremors and the stalking smell of fear that lurk with reality. He uncurls himself from Cas in the backseat and crawls out of the car with record speed. Sam explains that he had planned to run away with some girl, Jessica, who he had been with since Stanford but in the middle of the night he freaked out and left. His hair is only slightly shaggier then the last time they saw each other and he still double-knots his shoelaces. 

 

“I pulled into a motel two towns over before I could make it any farther. As soon as I woke up this morning I realized what I’d done but when I got back here she was gone. I’ve been out all day looking for her, stopping by all her favorite places, all the neighbors houses. Nobody’s seen her. She left her cell phone on the fucking nightstand. I lost her, Dean. She’s really gone.” 

 

“Hey,” Dean coos into his hair when his brother’s knees hit the ground, pulling him against his smaller frame. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’re gonna figure this out.” 

 

“Don’t you get it?” Sam croaks out. “The world is fucking ending, Dean! Wether or not she shows back up at my door, I lose her. I lose you. We all lose everything.” 

 

“It’s gonna be okay.” Dean’s voice is low as he stares at his brother, and if he could protect anybody from this, it would be him. That’s his job. It’s always his job. “It has to be okay.” 

 

Sam drops his arms to his sides, eyes fixated on the stars, tears leaking out by the second. He breaks so fiercely you could see every little crack start to form on his skin, hear every little breaking point when he breathes. A breeze moves through the crevices of their bodies and behind them, Cas shutters. 

 

“Jess…” he exhales, voice fracturing. “Jess is pregnant.” 

 

***

 

Somehow, over the course of the night, they managed to sleep in between two hailstorms and blistering morning record heat. The world outside was searing and white; the kind of heat where if you looked down the road, the asphalt radiated waves. Except that’s how everything looked until nightfall when the temperature dropped to negative numbers even in the most southern bits. Miles of ocean territory dried up by the thousands each day, tsunami’s rising in all of Asia. However, in small Lawrence, Kansas, under the one-hundred and four degrees sky, Dean Winchester wraps himself around pale Castiel Novak and ignores the UV rays spilling in against his exposed calves. All of him was sweaty but Cas didn't move aside. 

 

“Hi,” he mumbles. 

 

“How can you say ‘hi’ at a time like this?” Dean replies into his shoulder blade. 

 

“It rhymes with die,” he un-spoons himself so they’re face to face, the covers brushing against the sheets, letting out a huge yawn. “And pie.”

 

“Not to sound all ‘Dean Winchester’, but I can seriously go for some pie right now. I am starving.” Sam states, strutting in the living room wearing only a low rise towel. Cas blinks the lump in his throat away, watching the beads of water glitter against Sam’s skin in the glistening light from the window. Dean feels Cas growing against his leg before he even turns around to see what he found _so_ exciting, rolling his eyes and swinging his legs over the side of the pull-out couch.

 

“I’ll run to the store,” Cas offers from beneath his pool of blankets. Sam’s bedroom door clicks shut and Dean eyes Cas as he stretches his arms above his head, hips protruding. He licks his lips over. 

 

“Sam’s not…” Dean fumbles, eyeing his sock clad feet. He looks up at Cas and purses his lips, dimples under his nose popping. “He’s straight. He’s in love. And he’s my little brother, so, uh, put that thing away.” 

 

“I’m not hard for your brother, Dean.” Cas chuckles. “I was just wondering if you two looked alike, is all.” 

 

Dean closes his mouth. “Oh.” 

 

“Mhm,” Cas teases, stripping his shirt off to change into the one Sam lent him. “Maybe it’s people like us that are the reason God’s closing the curtains on this whole operation. We’re all so fucking horny. It’s like nonstop porno programming for him, isn't it? Gross.” 

 

“His fault,” Dean mutters. “That’s why I always skipped mass. Pre-marital sex is a sin, but when hormones kick in at thirteen, masturbation is also a sin. It’s like we’re supposed to be frustrated, sexually withheld demons until we get married.”

 

“You skipped mass to make out with Sarah Freely in the confessional. Who, of course, was the Priest’s daughter.” Sam enters the room again showcasing a smug grin and light wash jeans beneath an old purple dog shirt. 

 

“That’s why when this whole thing is over, I’m goin’ to Hell.” 

 

They laugh and Cas buttons his pants, wobbles to the boiling Impala through the heat, and sets off down the dusty road for the supermarket. Dean figured it would be vacant, or picked bone dry, so he set himself up in the kitchen and got cracking on some breakfast. He wished his Mom would've taught him her many pie recipes. 

 

Sam saunters into the kitchen, snorting. 

 

_“What?”_ Dean whisks, apron tightly around his chest. 

 

“Nothing,” Sam beams. “You just look so domestic.” 

 

“Yeah, well, I played the Dad card pretty well, didn't I? Guess it just wasn't my thing.” Dean scowls down at his bowl, wishing he had enough heart left in himself to cry. 

 

“That’s not true. You and I know better than anybody what bad fathering looks like, and that’s not you. You did everything you could for Ben. You have to know that.” 

 

“Yeah, well, too little too late. I couldn't protect him from this, and I couldn't even be there for him when the clock runs out. Selfishness is the only thing Dad handed down to me, and that’s damn well enough. Pass me the milk.” 

 

“Thank God that’s enough, Dean! The man was horrible!” Sam yells. 

 

“Shut up, Sam.” 

 

“You were a great father, alright? To me, and to Ben.” Dean stops his movements when Sam’s voice trembles, the silence deafening like when the sound of a heart breaks straight down the middle. “At least you got to be one.” 

 

Dean shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry. C’mere, brother. I’m sorry.” 

 

The last time Dean hugged his brother like this, it was a different life. It didn't feel like one of the lasts. It didn't make them cry. Sam finds his way over to the counter, cracking the eggs while Dean pours them, always adding too much cheese. Sam pulls down three pieces of wedding china they never used, placing them around the table, when a car pulls into the driveway. 

 

“That was fast,” Dean grumbles, filling the toaster with bread. 

 

The front door opens and four feet step down the hall, pausing at Dean’s cemented gaze. “They didn't have pie so I hope this will do.” 

 

“Cas, don’t…” Dean intervenes, Sam curling around the corner with bloodshot eyes. A look of panic waves across everyone’s faces. The eggs on the stovetop sizzle, filling the house with a buttery mist wavering beneath their noses. 

 

“Jessica?” Sam caves, racing forwards to scoop her up into his waiting arms. Her quivering fingers dig into the back of his neck, engagement ring burned on, while Castiel begins to set a fourth place at the table. 

 

***

 

They eat slow that morning. Dean watches his brother from across the table and couldn't recall ever seeing him stare so carnally at anything. Cas occasionally bumps his feet against Dean's just to let him know he was there; how could he ever forget, honestly. 

 

"These eggs are great Dean," Jess says.

 

"Thank the chickens." He replies.

 

"He means thank you." Sam assures her, glaring at his brother afterwords. 

 

"I mean," Dean spoons a helping onto his plate, edgier this time. _"Thank the chickens."_

 

Instantly, he drops the staged smile, and Cas presses a hand into his olive skin. "Chill." 

 

"Oh, you chill.” 

 

Sam rolls his eyes. "Why are you being such a dick?" 

 

"It's his time of the month," Cas grins at Jessica. "You know, the whole end of the world and all- stress _really_ enflames his loins." 

 

"Shove it, Cas," Dean warns before turning back to his brother. "She hauled ass on you, Sam! I'm really supposed to just be okay with that?"

 

"Yes, you are, because that's what you do when the entire planet is set to destruct in six fucking days!" 

 

"Stop," Jess intervenes. "You're right, Dean. I ran away because I was terrified- I _am_ terrified. But I started driving and each time I looked down at this little bump growing out of me, the less I pressed on the gas until I turned around! I know it doesn't matter and there's no time left for apologies, but I couldn't have made it any further without your brother. The universe would've had to end first." 

 

"Enough." Sam grits. "Jessica doesn't need to apologize. Dean, let it go." 

 

Dean takes an angry bite of his breakfast and Jess watches him with wide eyes, silently begging for _anything._ Finally, he complies, motioning his fork at her stomach. "Boy or girl?" 

 

“It's too soon to tell,” she blushes. 

 

"Okay. Boy or a girl?" He repeats, dimples surfacing briefly when his lips press together. Jess brushes his attitude off and grins bashfully over at Sam. 

 

"We think it's a girl." 

 

Dean simpers down at his plate, everybody in the room falling dismal and quiet. Cas engulfs his food hungrily and Sam brushes Jess's fingers settled between his thumb. The old house creaks, sighing with the sunlight beating down against it, pipes whining from pressure. Five tangible hearts beat in perfect sync. 

 

Dean clears his throat. “Well, I’d bet she's gonna be real beautiful." 

 

“With hair like her dad’s.” Jess chuckles after a moment.

 

“Go away,” Sam replies, Dean starting in as if _on cue,_ throwing his hands up dramatically.

 

“Just one haircut, dude! Do it for the apocalypse!” 

 

Dinner comes to a numb close, with everybody bursting at their seams with emotions they don’t even know where to put. Jess washes while Dean dries, elbow to elbow, not that doing the dishes was of top priority- but she harnessed that small glimmer of hope that twirled within the ends of her hair or in a gentle laughter against Sam’s lumber chest that _maybe_ things could still switch course. Maybe it would miss. 

 

“So where are you two heading out to?” She prods. 

 

“What makes you think we’re leaving?” Dean replies, scoffing into his dish towel. “That’s my brother in there.”

 

“I know, and you’ve been inseparable since forever, but you can’t protect him from this. If you love him, let him let himself be happy.” 

 

Dean laughs. “Are you trying to be wise? Because that just sounded like a weird sentence.”

 

“Fuck you; God forbid Sam _ever_ quit mauling me for enough time to study. He’s the brains in this house.” 

 

“And in the family,” he adds, lips splaying cheek to cheek. “Why- you guys leaving?” 

 

“California, somewhere. His idea. The house is going down by the minute anyway- the age combined with the rash weather conditions aren’t making for a very safe place to stake out.” She sees Dean start to lower his towel in sulk, and hugs his shoulder. “Hey. Come on.” 

 

His eyes close involuntarily, lids suddenly stinging with fresh hot tears. _Let him go, let him go, let him go._ He hasn't heard his father’s voice so clearly in his head in years, it seems, the familiarity of it cold but comforting. Sam had tried leaving for California several times, never making it further than the Lawrence train station, until the night he did. Dean would chase his suitcase around the house like a cat to a mouse, Sam screaming profanities at the walls, while John just chuckled to himself from the same place on the couch, bitterly. “Let him go, son.” 

 

“Jess, don’t,” Dean creaks out. “I won’t leave him. Please, Jessica. That’s my brother. I can’t leave him. I…” No matter how many times his brain tapped the bottom of the can, those three little words just wouldn't tumble out past his lips; for some reason, they sounded too much like goodbye.

 

“You’ll see him again. He's your brother.” 

 

Dean locks eyes with her, meeting her crooked smile with a sniffle. The next time he flickers his gaze upwards, the dishes are put away and the two of them peer into the living room, watching as Cas kneads Sam a man bun. Dean missed the explosive sound of his laughter, and the way his nose scrunches up, and how lanky his legs are when we walks, and especially the dorky little comments he cracks because there’s absolutely no other way all of the peculiar knowledge he contains would ever escape. Tenderly, like the way you hold a newborn for the first time, Dean smiles proudly. “He’s my brother.”

 

***

 

That afternoon, one of the pipes began to leak from all the coercion and the toilets stop flushing all together by sundown. Sam declares that everyone should be out of the house in the morning before anything dangerous strikes, and everyone numbly agrees. Cas manages to discover some old wine bottles hidden in the basement and Jess unfolds some quilts along the creaky old front porch,the unclouded sky housing them in. The air stuck to their skin in thick coats of discomfort, however, nobody paid any mind. 

 

The house was pretty much exactly how Dean had remembered it to be. There were a lot more paint chips curling around the fraying front door and two of the basement windows needed an intense power-wash, but it was sturdy. Soft and sinking, but brawny enough to still hold all their memories, even the big ones, even the ones bursting through the cracks. John always complained about the wallpaper Mary had put up herself around the downstairs, however there it still stuck, flowery and womanlike. Rich oak stairs spiraled up to the second floor; Dean's room on the left and Sam's directly across. He didn't expect their childhood rooms to be stripped bare when he turned the knobs, but John must've needed the money at some point. The same white, cookie-cutter picket fence stood outside his window and memories flooded his head. Over by the tire swing- his first kiss. Downstairs in the den- family game nights. And next to Sam's room... nothing. Dean remembers the two months construction workers barged in and out of his GI-JOE games to shave down his parents bedroom into simply a wall. A burnt to a crisp, still crackling if you concentrated hard enough, and Dean did, wall. 

 

“Sammy,” Dean swigged a sip of red wine around in his mouth, pursing his lips when he swallows, dimples surfacing. “Do you remember that night, weather fairly similar to this, actually, when I tried sneaking out to meet Cassie Robinson down at the Roadhouse?” 

 

“ _Cassie_ Robinson? And here I am thinking I’m such a unique, urban influence to you with my biblical based name from my crazy Christian parents.” Cas rolls his eyes. 

 

“Oh, you’re certainly an influence to him. Dean’s had it in his head since we were kids that he thinks I can’t tell when someone gets him all, what’s the word… flustered.” Sam grins cockily.

 

“Dean Winchester does not get _flustered_.” Dean shoots Sam’s smirk down with a sharp glare and Cas barks out a laugh. “Anyways, I got half-way out that door when I heard the click of a freakin’ 870 behind my shoulder. I didn't even think the old man could _use_ one of those.”

 

“I remember that. Dad shot you off the lawn probably fifteen times and I had to sweep up the shells because you still went.” 

 

“What- seventeen year old me missing out on Cassie Robinson? Come on, dude. That was a night to be remembered.” Dean raises his eyebrows, grinning against the glass brought up to his lips. 

 

“You were pretty crazy,” Sam reminisces. “Wonder where you got it from. You had that 870 in your hands too, you know; the night I left for prom with Sarah Blake- too bad she was a grade above you or you could've actually had a shot at scaring one of us.” 

 

“Just because you’re freakishly tall doesn't grant you the right to belittle the rest of us. I’m still older.” Jess sassed at him, Dean snorting from across the lanai. 

 

“And prettier,” he kisses her, twirling her strawberry curls around his fingers. Cas groans sarcastically.

 

“Could that asteroid _come_ any faster?” They laughed, but it leaves a sour taste in the air. 

 

Sam clears his throat. “So I hope Jessica got a chance to tell you guys… we’re heading out to California tomorrow.” 

 

“California? Are you sure? That’s a whole day of driving.” Cas says, softly. 

 

“I’m sure you guys have somewhere you want to be, too.” 

 

“Yeah. I do. With my brother.” Sullenly, Dean snickers. “Sorry. I’ve just had a little too much wine, I guess.” 

 

An awkward silence settles between the foursome, when two stars fall abruptly past their eyes. Jess gasps, pulling Sam closer against her shivering frame, the pair conjoining like pieces to a puzzle. Dean’s mind wanders in the split second it takes for the stars to pass by, and he wonders if that’s how Earth will look in a matter of days. Perhaps on a front porch far, far away, inside just _one_ of the other endless galaxies out there, four people will be lucky enough to catch sight of this world crackling apart, seemingly nothing but a descending spark. Lost inside of himself, he cranes his neck over to Castiel, eyes fastened above like a telescope. Something of a smile wanes across his lips, and before it can even succumb Dean leans in centimeters from his face, stopping for a second just to stare. 

 

“You’re going to kiss me,” Cas whispers, the words tickling Dean’s nose. 

 

“I am.” He replies.

 

“I’m going to fall in love with you.” 

 

Dean smiles. He looks at him like he loves him. 

 

“That’s okay. So am I.”

 

“How conceited,” Cas retorts. Dean drops his eyelids over-dramatically. “That’s not what I meant.” 

 

“What did you mean?” Cas asks, grazing his forehead onto Dean’s before settling it there, letting their eyelashes brush and their noses acquaintance. Dean blinks, seeing nothing but blue. He blinks again, this time staring at two closed eyelids, twitching but certain. He blinks once more; black everything. He feels Cas’ lips against his, warm and wanting, fervent and keen. They kiss again, more open this time, tongues swapping long silenced secrets. Everything feels right for a minute, and a minute is all it takes- that is, if the lips you are kissing could stop even time. 

 

They pull apart only for air and Dean can’t recall when exactly he cupped his hands around Cas’ face, or how Cas’ brows could be so beautifully creased, right down the middle, like the only path he has leading to home. 

 

“I think I’m ready to cash in my chips for tonight, fellas.” Jess yawns, stretching her limbs until Sam lifts her up, quilt rolled up under his other arm. “Don’t freeze out here for too long, alright?” 

 

“We wouldn't want you getting your tongues stuck together or anything like that.” Sam chortled, Jess slapping him on the arm. Dean mimics him, pulling a stupid face until his brother marches inside. 

 

“Is it weird that I don't want to go inside but I’m also cold as hell out here?” Cas stands up. 

 

“We could sit in the car. Sam and I used to watch the stars from the hood on nights like these. She’s pretty comfortable.” 

 

They trot over to the Impala, hands shoved in their pockets as gravel crunches loudly beneath their feet. The passenger door creaks open and Cas crawls in first, making himself comfortable in the backseat before Dean joins him, shutting them in. Cas rubs his hands together in an effort to create warmth, but for some reason the car wasn't as chilled as he thought it would be. He still asks Dean to turn on the heater.

 

“The vents will make noise if I do that. Sam and I shoved a bunch of Lego’s in there when we were kids.” 

 

“I can’t even get disappointed because of how adorable that is. You haven't taken them out after all this time?” Dean shakes his head no, a sad look on his face, so Cas doesn't ask why. Instead, he moves closer, tilting Dean’s chin towards him with the tips of his fingers and enveloping their lips together again. 

 

“Why do I get the feeling,” he murmurs between kisses, “I’m not the first Cas you’ve made out with in this car.” 

 

“Because you aren’t.” Dean replies, pushing him back a little. Cas’ eyes widen in encouragement. “But you’re the first one I’m gonna fuck.” 

 

“Aw, I prefer the term ‘make love’,” Cas whines, pulling Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth in hunger. Dean smirks, his eyes dark with lust. The shadow coursing over his shoulders make him look almost demonic. 

 

“No, I don’t think you do.” 

 

Dean digs his hands into the sides of Cas’ thighs, yanking on them until he slides perfectly beneath him, trapped. When he reaches his hands up to run through Dean’s hair, Dean slithers his hands up Cas’ wrists and links their fingers, pinning his arms up next to his ears. Cas mewls, his jeans feeling more like a cage than ever before. 

 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Dean growls against Cas’ neck, nipping at the soft skin until it’s blotchy and bruised. 

 

“Stop kissing the words out of my mouth.” Cas cries, his comedic relief replaced with intense lust and desire as Dean’s hands slip from within his and travel down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over Cas’ head with ease before doing the same to himself. The moment Dean’s hand brushes against Cas’ aching bulge, he grips onto his shoulders and stutters. 

 

“Wait, Dean, I uh, I just-” Dean kisses his forehead soothingly, edging him to speak. “I’m a little scared? It’s you, after all. Doing this with you… yeah. Scared.”

 

He’s never seen Cas show any actual emotions, especially vulnerability, and it fills him with an odd wave of warmth. It makes him happy, the way Cas chews his lower lip, and his concerned doe eyes, and how he makes Cas- wonderful, untouchable, radiant Cas- feel safe. 

 

“I am too,” he breathes. “I’ve never done this before.”

 

A look teeters around in Cas’ eyes for a second before he welcomes it. “Me neither.” 

 

Dean tries to hide his astonishment, hissing when Cas sucks on the skin covering his jaw, unable to resist it any longer. Instinctively, his head juds up allowing Cas better access, and from below he looks like a cupid’s bow; a perfectly sculpted V, an arrow pointing towards the Heavens- a constellated map all of Cas’ own, littered with freckles that could be stars someplace else. The hickies reach from his collar bones all the way up, red and purple and wet; patchy little galaxies he created for them. 

 

“We would wait, you know, if you feel rushed.” Cas sighs from above the boy craning for the milky skin of his neck. “I don’t want this to feel necessary. I could wait a few days for you- go out with a real _bang.”_

 

Dean gazes down at him, all ice blue eyes and slick swollen lips, feeling his heart pump two inches out of his chest. Cas swallows a thick lump that doesn't subside, and Dean nearly fucking scoffs. “How _did_ the universe come up with you?”

 

Cas smiles wolfishly into his chest, fighting for breath as twenty trembling fingers claw at each other’s belts, limps tangled up like yarn by the time they get to where they want to be. Moonlight pours in through the back window above Castiel’s head, illuminating his pale skin sleek with sweat, shining light upon his length just pumping blood against Dean’s stomach. Dean fumbles at first, knowing what to do but not really, not when it’s Cas, not when it’s this beautiful angel beneath him, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape the minute Dean’s skin makes contact. His mind goes berserk: _fuck, he’s beautiful._

 

“Is this okay?” Dean squeaks, wrapping his hand around Cas until his thumb no longer touches his other fingers. He always thought Cas would be big, but it’s not even just that- because he is, he really is- but he’s pretty. Dean Winchester thinks his cock is _pretty._ If it was made of marble, you could ship it to Greece and attach it to a statue. 

 

“Yes, Dean- so good, shit.” Cas pants, slipping out light little _“oh, oh oh’s”_ like it’s a prayer. Dean sees his palms clench around the seat, and his whole body tenses for a second, stilling, and Dean jerks him faster and faster until _yes, Cas, come for me, baby._

 

And he does, all over the seat and all over Dean, letting out one final moan of pleasure before Dean can’t take it anymore. He gives Cas a long minute to put himself back together before gently curling his hand around where his neck meets the back of his head, curving against his body in ways he’s never moved before. Cas flattens a hand between his shoulder blades, moving with Dean’s slow grind, and _if they were instruments, they’d be creating the most beautiful of symphonies ever constructed,_ he thinks. Dean drags his fingers against Cas’ glossy lips before pushing them inside, letting Cas slick them up. Dean thinks he looks fucking amazing like that, and pops his fingers out slowly before he gets too excited, a string of saliva hanging on for salvation. He positions his wet fingers against Cas’ opening but waits for his sign of approval. When he whimpers, Dean presses inside.

 

It’s all slow, slower than the rotation of Earth, slower than the time it takes a sunflower to grow. It’s discomfort at first, but a good kind, and Dean tantalizes him with one finger until trying two. He moves in and out of Cas, eyeing his expressions the whole time, watching him love every yearning bit of it. So hungry. So raw. Dean licks his fingers this time, slathering them up but Cas stops him, prodding for something more _._ Dean takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ before aligning himself to his entrance and carefully thrusting deep. His back bends like archery, the color of his eyes a dark emerald forest Castiel is eager to hunt in, strumming his fingers up and down the bow of Dean’s curved back before letting go, shooting his arrow towards delicious game. 

 

They keep it quiet- not for the sake of noise, but to keep it all to themselves- muffling their animalistic sounds with each other’s bodies. Dean fucks into him until the familiar tightness pools around in his stomach, and Cas knows he’s _there._ Dean’s face curls up into a breathtaking ‘O’, letting out dry sobs into Cas’ hair and that sends them both over the edge of the world, grazing the horizon of planet Earth and surrendering to absolute bliss. 

 

The window’s are foggier than they would be on a mid-December morning after fresh snowfall, and neither of them could dare attempt to move a limb. Somehow they fit together on the seat, Dean splayed across Cas’ heaving body with wonderful exhaustion. 

 

“Dean?” Cas says with a voice barely above a whisper. 

 

“Hm?” he replies, sleepily. Cas doesn't speak for a while, lost in focusing on Dean’s swelling heartbeat knocking against his own. When Dean exhales, he can hear it pump through the silence. 

 

“I’m scared, Dean.” A tear trails down to his lips. “I’m terrified of losing you.” 

 

“You won’t. I’m here, Cas. Right here.” Dean murmurs, half asleep, lips glued to his chest. “Not going anywhere without you. Promise.”

 

“Okay,” Cas breathes out, knocking his fingers atop Dean’s knuckles while feeling his brow dip into a solid crease. “Promise.”

 

They both lay there together, and moments before Cas fully divulges into letting his eyelids slip shut, he mumbles something neither of them quite catch. Dean stirs in his sleep.

 

***

 

Looking back, Dean believes he experienced many beautiful things in life. Like on a long drive home with Sam passed out in the passenger seat, beer can still in hand, with the moonlight grazing over the car hood in consistent waves. Or an old memory of his mother, seeming lifetimes away from now, arched above him with a smile purer than God’s favorite angel (because he has to have one). He’s overlooked Yosemite National Park at sunrise. He’s seen the look on Bobby’s face after Dean fixed up his first car. He’s seen John Winchester pass with a smile on his face. He’s seen the constellations above summer of ’95 and he’s admired the contrast of sunny green leaves against an endless summer sky. He’s walked through warm grass barefoot and dipped fresh chocolate chip cookies into a tall glass of milk. He’s taken down a whole room with laughter from the simplest of jokes. He’s watched humanity in it’s purest form from a park bench, laughing and running and living and singing. 

 

But when Dean looks over to his right this morning, a bare Castiel drooling onto his shoulder, it takes his breath away effortlessly. He’s seen many beautiful things in life, but this… nothing even came close. 

 

“Mmrgh,” Cas grunts. Dean shakes his shoulder, leaning a kiss down to press into soft hairs. They definitely needed to shower. “I had a dream that we were swimming in the river Styx holding baguettes above our heads to keep them dry.”

 

“Did we?”

 

“I don’t know, let me go back to sleep and find out.” 

 

“No can do, cowboy. We have to get a move on, remember? It’s already nearing eleven.”

 

“Time isn't real,” Cas mutters. Dean laughs while they sit up, rubbing at their eyes and clambering for clothes. After frantic grabbing and pulling at the car floor, Cas pokes his head up, hair frazzled in a hundred directions and an innocent pout on his face that captures the same look one might have after not sleeping for thirty years. Dean bites back a giggle by kissing him softly. 

 

For twenty minutes they all take turns in front of the hose, spraying brown water all over themselves before realizing it was somehow less-gross just staying dirty and dry. Jess distracts Dean from loading bags with casual conversation as Cas wanders over to Sam, arms crossed and neck craned towards the roof of the only house he’s ever known so well. He waits for the dust to settle around their feet before he speaks. 

 

“You’re a really great guy, Castiel,” Sam says. “And know that I really appreciate what you’re doing here.”

 

“Oh, save it. What’s the end of the world without a road-trip?” 

 

“No. I’m serious.” 

 

“I know.” Cas ties down a smile into a flat line. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

 

Sam scoffs. “Not many people can make him so happy. It’s mainly just been me and John Bonham.”

 

“Could be worse… he could be a Foreigner fan.” 

 

They both smirk. Something hits the ground with a large thump and they turn their heads, narrowing in on Jess scrambling to help Dean with an exploding suitcase. Her underwear spread across the windshield of Sam’s pickup and she shrieked as she lunged for them, Dean’s thunderous laughter shaking leaves off the elderly oak trees adjacent to the road. Sam watched the light burst from between Cas’ curled lips, soft pants of amusement tumbling out. Little red hearts could hover over his head in a cartoon. 

 

“I don’t really know what to say to my neighbor husband’s brother a week before the very end of the world. Keep in touch?” 

 

The two of them chuckle until Dean begins strolling over. “You have a point. Keep both hands on the wheel, don’t do anything too illegal, and try to pack as much of an entire lifetime as you can into five days.” 

 

“Ex-squeeze me, baking powder, Sam? None of that ‘five days’ crap; she can _hear_ you.” Dean gestured towards the car, not a lick of silliness anywhere on his face. 

 

“I’m going to go help Jess with whatever’s left,” Cas excuses himself. “Bye, Sam.”

 

Sam gives a firm nod and lets out a long, dreary sigh. Dean clears his throat. His eyes appear slightly less dry than a minute ago. “I’m not going to beg you to stay this time.” 

 

“Well. I didn't think so.”

 

“How could I hold you back from something you deserve again? The clock don’t give no time to be selfish. You deserve to happy, Sammy. After all this,” Dean drags his eyes across the outlines of the house, sucking in a jagged breath of air when he reaches the top left corner and all it’s restorations. “You deserve to be happy.”

 

A pause. 

 

“And to think I’d have gotten saying goodbye down to a science by now.” He tries laughing. “Yeah, no, not… not to you- never to you. I think I did it once in a nightmare or something but I don’t remember much. You were engaged to Jess, and Mom was alive and I had this smokin’ chick. Anyway we were totally apple pie and sometimes I wish I never would've woken up from that, you know; said goodbye to everything I’ve ever wanted. But now here I am, doing it all again. It fucking hurts! I-I can’t… I can’t drive off this lot knowing I’m never going to see you again.” 

 

“Neither can I- you think I want to leave you? I never wanted to go, Dean, ever. But I couldn't play the role of your kid brother my whole life. I have people I need to look after, too. And so do you, and goddammit Dean, if you let him go… I’ll kick your ass the next time I see you. And there will be a next time. I read this book in college about alternate universes and parallel lifetimes and it totally shifted my point of view on everything. I think there’s a good chance as any that we’re out there, somewhere. You just gotta have faith.” 

 

The tears came no matter how hard Dean bit his lip or how quickly his hand swiped beneath his eyes. Just this time- because Sam really did have faith and God if he isn't just too pure for this Earth- he didn't fight them off. For his little brother, he was weak. He reached forward until a fistful of Sam’s shirt filled his fingers and he crushed him against his chest with all his force. Their atoms would never align like this again, not here. It was magnificent. 

 

“You know something? If I had to pick out the sound of your heartbeat in a lineup, I could.” Dean exhales, a tear following the short path to his chin. He grabs Sam tighter, burying his face completely in his shoulder until it’s soaked. Sam whispers, “You’re my brother, Dean. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for _you_.” 

 

At some point, Dean releases him, and they all start their cars and roll to the end of the rocky old driveway and just guzzle, watching the burning heat from the tangerine sky pound down mercilessly. It was an afternoon with all the same colors of a sunset and all the same temperature of the actual sun. Nobody cries. Nobody moves. Sam and Dean stare at each other from their own separate driver’s seats, and Cas smiles over at Dean with sweetness. Jess grabs Sam’s empty palm, which reminds him of something he learned in college; _the human heart is about the size of two hands clasped together._ His foot presses harder on the gas and he ignores every fleeting memory of Dean that plays over in his head on a loop until he can’t take it anymore and pulls over down the road. He cries into Jessica’s neck which lacked the smell of bourbon and old leather in a suddenly traumatic way. 

 

*** 

 

For hours, Dean’s eyes don’t flee from the road. They tear through every cassette tape in the box. They pass the time with funny stories and trivial debates and by the time nightfalls, they know nearly everything there is to know about each other- like how Cas reads the comics _every_ morning and how Dean is only a little bit irrationally scared of dogs under twenty pounds. Dean pulls into a restaurant a little South of New Orleans and they hobble inside, sunburned and beat. The place looks deserted except for one guy in the far corner doing a crossword. Soft rock is playing from a small radio behind the counter which Dean figures isn't so bad, until the station starts playing Foghat and he asks Cas to leave. 

 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with Foghat, brother.” Somebody unshaved and scuffed up with char marks littered across his apron pops up from behind the register and Dean raises his eyebrows. The man’s eyes are a crystal blue and it’s obvious he has a few war stories or something. A fat scar covers his left bicep, which are huge but not overly intimidating because when he grins, he melts into a big teddy bear.

 

“Of course there isn’t, right Dean?” Cas says nervously, tugging on his arm. 

 

“No, not at all,” Dean replies, Cas sighing in relief. “If you have bad taste, you have bad taste. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that, _brother._ ” Dean spits the word at him and Cas slaps him upside the head. 

 

“Play nice,” he grits, turning towards the man with a friendly fake smile. “I’m starving. Deny him to your heart’s content but please don't starve me. I have half as much muscle as the two of you combined; I can’t afford to skip a meal because _somebody_ has a sharp tongue. Plus, it smells fucking delicious over here. What’s cooking?” 

 

“Gumbo. You got something against good ol’ home cooking too or can I get you both a hot bowl?” 

 

Dean opens his mouth but Cas shoves a finger in his face. “Shut your face. Two bowls, please.” 

 

The two of them take seats at the bar and watch the man pour them two steaming bowls as promised, placing it in front of them along with two cold beers still sweating from the cooler. “On the house.” 

 

He yanks a rag from between his waistband and begins waving it across the bar in wide circles and Cas moans as the spoon hits his tongue. “This is amazing!”

 

“Family recipe,” the man smiles. Dean tries it as well, passing all judgement. When he doesn't chase it with a swig of beer, the man laughs and Dean blushes wolfishly. “Ain’t _nothing_ wrong with that, chief. What’s your name?”

 

“I’m Benny.” They shake hands.

 

“I’m Dean and this is Cas. We’re from Kansas.” Cas smiles broadly, waiting for the expected awkwardness of "Oh, are you two brothers or buddies?" but it never comes. He's thankful. 

 

"That's a mighty long way for Nola. Y'all got family here or something?" Benny asks, chucking his rag into the sink by the fryers. 

 

“Or something; we’re just driving until we can't anymore."

 

"Ain't we all," Benny laughs. Looking down, Dean notices he can see the bottom of his bowl but before he can ask for seconds, it's refilled. He takes a hearty spoonful and looks around the place thoroughly while they chat about news updates. Every chair was a different color yet each somehow suffered the same jagged craftsmanship and authentication. Old license plates hung above the stove- souvenirs from Benny's drifter times, he explained- and all the tables held little black and white checker boards. It was a homey vibe; the kind of joint with a fireplace that pumped out all the welcoming smells of good ol' Southern grub. 

 

"You ever tour Nam, Dean?" 

 

"Huh?" Dean pipes up, pulled from his thoughts and wondering eyes. "Oh, no sir."

 

"Ah. You look like someone I used to bunk with, is all." 

 

"He make it?" Cas asks. 

 

"Sure did; came home safe and sound, married his girl, squeezed out a couple of rascals. You know how the fairytale goes." 

 

"Haha," the air was suddenly thick. "Not this soldier. Sorry, buddy." 

 

"No need to apologize. You two ain't into the whole adoption thing? I get that."

 

"Excuse me?" Dean's eyes went wide and Cas shuffled through an entire deck of emotions before cupping Dean's shoulder- just in case. 

 

"Oh..." He trailed off, taking away Cas' empty bowl. "I just assumed you were... pardon me, fellas."

 

"No need. We were just leaving." Dean stands up. 

 

"Leaving? Why? Benny's not wrong. Why are you getting all _myeh?"_ Myeh was a strange sound Cas used to replace adjectives when he was unsure of a situation. Benny chuckles from the counter. _"Myeh?"_

 

"I'm not _myeh._ It's just late and we still need a motel." Cas passes a look around with Dean before settling it into a glare and pulls his arms into his flannel, adjusting the sleeves. 

 

"I didn't mean anything by it or nothin'. You don't seem like no queer. I just see the way you look at him, and I know that look, that's all. Have a great night and best of luck to you's." 

 

"I don't need to adopt. I had a son, god dammit, I did!" The vein in Dean's forehead is popping out and he's spitting the entire Pacific onto the floor but Cas hangs back, letting him blow off his steam. "The whole fucking planet is set to destruct in days and I'm sitting here on my ass taking soup and parenting advice from a freakin' gimp?"

 

Benny leaps over the counter, fingers full of Dean's flannel a split second before Cas screams and Dean's shaky breaths are less than an inch from Benny's. Their chests heave, grinding together, and Cas pounds at the white t-shirt stuck to Benny's sweaty back. 

 

"Listen once and once only, Dean," he snaps. "You know what kind of daddy calls me a gimp? My own. And you ain't him." 

 

Dean gulps. After a long minute, his twitching eyes flicker up and follow the outline of Benny's stubbled jaw. The bell above the door dings as the man with the crossword steps out, the sound of the door closing again echoing between them. The soft Louisiana air slips in for only a moment, slipping through the cracks and crevices of their bodies before disappearing. 

 

"I think it best that we should get the hell out of here, so if I could just have my Dean back we'll be on our way." The small voice behind Benny says. 

 

Another bone-chilling glare at Dean and then he gives, letting him go. Dean laughs a little, the sly grin on his face teetering up and down until it slips off, replaced with a jaw clench, two cold eyes, and one solid punch. Benny's down in a second. Cas runs over to grab the soaking rag to wrap around Dean's bleeding knuckles, who's laughing hysterically, and blindly claws at the coat rack on their way out. When they make it to the parking lot, Dean's panting and Cas has one arm around him and one stuck in the sleeve of some random beige trench-coat which must've been Mr. Crossword's. It fits, though. 

 

"I haven't... laughed this hard... in years, Cas," Dean wipes at his wet eyes. They manage to clamber in the Impala and hobble off the lot without ever seeing Benny again, which Dean gratefully smirks at about half a mile later. He's still laughing to himself when Cas smooths down his stress hair, the guzzling engine lulling him to a calm.

 

They pull into a campsite ten miles down the long, winding road, where a group of what looks like college kids are cuddled around a fire-pit. It was a hell of a lot closer than the next motel, and free, so Dean throws his better judgement to the wind and backs in next to a bubblegum pink Silverado with headlights ripping through their thick curtain of smoke. 

 

"You two here for the party or just jonesing for a place to sleep?" A skinny Asian kid strolls up to them wearing nothing but a loopy smile; Dean's brows raise instinctively, eyes bugging. Cas chews around his thumb in an attempt to stifle a laugh. "I'm Kevin Tran." 

 

"Kevin," Dean says, eyes focused upwards. "How 'bout some pants?"

 

"Oh, haha, thanks but I'm alright!" The stoner smile on his face extends for miles. About fifteen other kids behind him are also unclothed and making out with each other between restocking the fire and passing around a joint. Dean and Cas borrow some blankets from Kevin- who they learn was a straight A student at Vanderbilt a few days ago- and spread themselves out behind a tree close to the fire but hidden from twenty stoned college kids, Cas practically one of them. Dean doesn't think about that too deeply. 

 

"Hit, boys?" Kevin offers, the smoke lingering from the end of the blunt creeping into their senses. Dean starts to decline, but Cas nearly jumps at the opportunity, sliding it between his fingers before Kevin leaves. 

 

"You're gonna smoke pot?" 

 

"No," Cas molds his lips around it, smiling while he inhales. "I'm gonna fuckin’ river-dance." 

 

"What if it's laced?" Dean worries too much. Cas balances the blunt between his lips and runs his hands across Dean's neck, and then his shoulders, and then his chest, pushing him until he lays. The fire crackles. Their skin feels raw. Everything surrounding Cas is smoke, smoke, smoke; like he's stuck in a burning building but he isn't calling for help. He's comfortable right where he is. 

 

Two of his fingers curl around the paper again, and he puffs on it for a while. Dean drags his hand down the sleeping-bag until he reaches Cas' and weaves their fingers together, bending his elbow upward. From the ground looking up, mixed with all the THC in his nostrils, their hands look like the moon. Cas grinds a little, playing it off as getting comfortable. Dean gazes at the smoke slipping from his lips and wants to inhale every inch of him. Abruptly, he sits up, opening his mouth and smashing it against Cas', shotgunning the remaining smoke. Dean rips Cas' shirt over his head and digs his fingertips into the soft skin of his back, tracing the bumps of his spine and flips them over, the joint still bobbing between Cas' lips.

 

Dean snakes his fingers around it, stealing it away and brings it up to his own, smoking for the first time in forever. Fuck, it's good. It's amazing. And Cas- Cas is amazing. Most of the campfire is asleep or preoccupied, no one saying a word, the only sound drowning out the crinkling firewood is an old stereo perched on a quilt clad log. Dean doesn't tell Cas he knows they're about to fuck to The Lumineers, and he definitely doesn't tell him that no matter how insulting it is to his classic rock exterior and anti-new age persona that it's definitely the best album of all time besides Dark Side of the Moon and Rubber Soul. Dean doesn't tell him anything at all, except, "I love you, Cas," into his neck over the crackley twang of a guitar. 

 

"I never want to forget this," Cas whispers, staring into his eyes. "Never want to forget you. Us. This moment." 

 

"This moment is forever. No one can take it away. By the time that asteroid hits, this will have already happened. I will love you here forever." Dean shifts a little. “Right here, baby," he mumbles, rubbing against Cas right where it hurts. "Forever." 

 

They make love slow around that campfire and when they finish, Cas points out a little patch of stars they can see beyond a clearing high above their heads; branches that make a small circle, a lens of a telescope all to themselves. 

 

“That star," Cas drags his index finger made of lead up to point at one specific dot and giggles. “I bet that star is going to have the best view of this shit-show.”

 

“We can visit afterwards and ask ‘em all about it,” Dean grins at him. 

 

“Who do you think is going to miss Earth the most?” Cas yawns, feeling sleep take him over unwillingly. 

 

“I don’t know. Probably Mars or something.” Dean says. 

 

“Maybe no one will even notice.” Cas replies, before nodding off into a slumber not even the end of the world could stir him from. 

 

*** 

 

At half past five in the morning, someone throws a fresh cut of wood onto the fire, and Dean wakes up panting. Cas barely flutters an eyelash, and when he looks over in the direction of the noise, his chest aches. Two more logs hit the fire, and it grows and grows and grows until the flames look like trees at last. The boy hovering over the logs is wearing a Stanford hoodie. He disappears into a tent and waits for the sunrise to cover his shift. 

 

Dean cries into Cas’ hair for a long, long time. 

 

*** 

 

“Four fucking days! Get your tickets now everyone!” Kevin runs around yelling. Dean finally regains consciousness with a killer headache and no Cas by his side. 

 

“Hey kid, ixnay on the screaming?” Dean grumbles, squinting an eye around for Cas. He finds him sitting around the dying fire, disheveled and on the phone. He has a quilt wrapped around him and some brunette pressed into his side, luring her fingers around his neck. His head’s in his hands. 

 

“It’s been years,” Dean overhears him snarl into the receiver. “You have no right, Gabriel, _none._ It takes you less than a business week till the end of the fucking world to reach out to me and tell me you’re _sorry?_ Shove it. Shove it so fucking far.” 

 

Cas presses end and shoves the phone at her, untwining himself from her lingering hands and stomping over to Dean, who stuffs himself back into the sleeping-bag and pretends he’s still asleep. Cas scoffs at him.

 

“Playing dead for me? Aw, you shouldn't have.” He snarls, sitting down. Dean rolls his eyes behind his heaving back.

 

“What’s wrong? Who’s Gabriel?”

 

“Shut up, Dean,” he spits. Dean feels the tears from last night well back up in his eyes and draws blood from his bottom lip to keep them at bay. Cas snakes his hands through his forest of dark hair for a while before meeting Dean’s gaze with glassy eyes. “I didn't mean that. I’m so sorry. Gabriel is my step brother. We don't talk anymore. He knows a lot of people, like _a lot_ of people, and tracked that girl’s phone to find me to tell me he’s _sorry._ Can you believe that? Now he’s fucking sorry. Now!” 

 

“They say there’s no better time than-” Cas shoots him a death glare; one that sends literal shivers down his spine and he decides it’s a good idea not to finish that sentence. “Why don't you talk to your family, Cas?”

 

“Because some of us aren't a Winchester. I didn’t get a Sam.” 

 

Neither of them say anything to that. 

 

“Shall we hit the road?” 

 

Castiel nods. They roll up their bag and thank Kevin for the hospitality, who was too high to even remember who they were, and high-five the rest of the hippie’s they pass on the walk to the car. Cas hauls out a case of water from the trunk and swings it into the back seat for the trip, a strip of skin exposed above his pale waistline. The brunette winks at him, making his cheeks blossom pink. 

 

“How do you do, Clarence?”

 

From the rearview mirror, Dean catches it, mumbling to himself about her for the second time that morning. He slams his door, sauntering up to Cas all brown leather jacket and mysterious grin, her eyelids leveling into thin slivers of jealously. Dean covers Cas’ blushing cheeks with his muscular hands and plants one on him, a hot one, again and again and again until she storms back to her campfire to the haunting echo of AC/DC and Dean’s mischievous laughter throughout the trees. 

 

They drive until Cas hits Dean on the shoulder enough times to make him pull over into the empty parking lot of a worn down record store called Crossroads. Dean grunts as they walk up the door, complaining for the last time that he likes his music collection as it is, but Cas just smiles as the bell rings above their heads. They notice two other guys in the store, presumably the owners, and neither of them are wearing much more than ripped jeans and bathrobes. They seem nice, though. They’re smiling. 

 

“Howdy folks,” the one fingering through a box of Paul McCartney and Wings says. “You in the denim; name an artist.” 

 

Dean’s face contorts, pleading at Cas for interjection, but gets nothing. _Asshole._ He waves his hands around, shrugging, and the other man at the register prods along. “Anyone at all, we got ‘em.” 

 

“He likes The Beatles.” Cas grins sheepishly. Dean crams his eyes shut in embarrassment, shaking his head. 

 

“The Beatles?” Register repeats, eyeing Dean up and down with a cocked brow. “Yeah, right. You sure?” 

 

“Yes, I’m sure. If I wanted to make you laugh, I’d come up with something better than that.” 

 

“I dunno man, that’s pretty funny. No offense, you just seem like more of an… Iron Maiden type of guy.” Wings lover says. 

 

“What is this, a freakin’ interrogation?” Dean hisses. “Just sell me some Anthology and we’ll be on our way.”

 

“Oh, where you two headed?” One of them asks.

 

“Sorry, but who the hell are you?” Dean shoots, Cas interfering yet again. 

 

“He’s not very friendly at first impression. What’re your names?” 

 

“Chuck.” Sloppy shaven register guy says. “And that’s Garth, my co-owner.”

 

“Guilty,” he grins from the other side. 

 

“Well, now that we’re one big happy family, where’s your tunage?” Dean fights back an eye roll, taking Cas’ hand and letting Garth lead them into the back of the store. It smelled faintly like booze and strongly like fish, which they both tried to ignore, and every wall was a different shade of neon. They didn't have as many posters on the wall as they did framed records and pinned up tie-dye shirts, but Dean catches sight of a Led Zeppelin II mural painted behind the bathrooms and nods approvingly. “I’m only looking for cassettes.” 

 

“Not a problem,” Chuck shouts from the front. “We have the biggest selection in the entire county.” 

 

“He’s overselling. We have the _only_ selection in the entire county, because it’s not 1992.” 

 

“God, could I live one day without you reminding me?” 

 

“Shakespeare could not write a better tragedy,” Dean mutters painfully sarcastically. “Could you point us in their direction so we could leave you two to bicker alone?” 

 

“I wish we had time to sign you up for some social skills classes.” Cas rolls his eyes. 

 

“There’s two crates in the back left corner. Go wild, kids.” 

 

Garth excuses himself to organize the S-W section, leaving Dean to dig elbow deep into some of the best albums of all time on small, convenient little squares. Every thirty seconds or so, he hands Cas a new tape and rolls up his sleeve again, pulling out an American Beauty or Revolver or a few unmarked Bob Dylan classics. He carefully avoids Journey and Floyd because God knows he has enough of those, but hides a Night Ranger in his back pocket, just for Sister Christian. Sue him. 

 

“Find me a Europe ’72.” Cas nudges him. 

 

“I know you’re funnier than that, Cas. Hell, _you_ know.” Dean chuckles, coldly. 

 

“Dean, so help me, you can suck yourself.” 

 

Less than a minute later, the dimples burst proudly in Dean’s rosy cheeks, one Europe ’72 between his fingers. Cas balances about ten cassettes in his hands, Dean picking up the trail of jumpers on their way to the register, and Chuck happily paper bags them. Behind him, Cas notices a calendar with thick black X’s over each date, stopping two weeks ago. 

 

“Free of charge, because you can’t put a price on good music.” He lies through his teeth. Cas smiles graciously though, Dean shaking both of their hands on their walk towards the door. Through the slits of the blinds, he can see the sky leering cloudy and mean, black clouds swooping over them by the hour. Shit. 

 

“Storm’s a brewing. At least let me offer you some food money, which I’ll be happy to turn my cheek to if you spend it on porn.”

 

“Don’t need it much. Ask for me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man.” 

 

“ _Exit Mercutio.”_ Garth says to himself without even looking up from his bin. 

 

“That was Tybalt, dipshit.” 

 

“Like it matters,” Garth scoffs. “They both die.”

 

“Them and everyone else in four days. Now take your good music and go somewhere pretty.” Chuck disappears into the back room, his coffee still steaming next to the twenty Dean left by the register. 

 

“Thank you, come again!” Garth smiles goofily. Dean and Cas laugh with him, bidding a warm goodbye before ducking into the Impala, preparing for the rain to come down in buckets. Cas reaches into the bag, shoving a tape into the radio while Dean skids off the property and out of town for a cheap motel. 

 

***

 

When they get to their room, Castiel takes a long steamy shower. The storm rages on something nasty outside and Dean grabs the desk phone, praying there isn't a power shortage in the next few minutes. His fingers dial the numbers by heart, the pattern edged into his memory without even a second glance; a dance only his hands deliver perfectly. 

 

On fourth ring, there’s a voice. “Hello?” 

 

“Sammy?”

 

“Dean,” he gasps, sounding all static-y. “I’m so glad you reached me. I didn't know where to find you.”

 

“Some cheap motel, where else?” They laugh. “You alright?” 

 

“Yeah, I really am. California’s a bit crowded but it’s beautiful like I remember. Jess is happy.” 

 

“That’s, uh…” Dean’s voice gives out beneath him, coming back raspy and broken. “That’s amazing- that you guys are happy, I mean. Maybe God does listen to me after all.” 

 

He chuckles, sadly. “Is it storming there or something? You’re going in and out.”

 

Sam starts to break up and Dean panics, nearly ripping the cord from the wall so he can hear him. “Dean? Dean, hello? What the-”

 

“Sam? Sam, I’m here. Hello?” 

 

Static. 

 

“Sammy!” He shouts. 

 

“Hey, I can hear you. You cut out for a second. Are you good, Dean? You sound a little crazy.” Sam asks, and Dean can hear him smirking like the son of a bitch he is. 

 

“Yeah, I’m…” Dean pants into the receiver. “…just glad you’re okay. I miss you like hell. How’s the baby?” 

 

“I miss you too, and the baby’s great. She’s kicking actually- must get that from you, huh?” 

 

Dean smiles purely for the first time in days. For this second, it feels safe on his face, like it won’t be snatched away the very next second. He sits there on the bed, letting it sink in to his skin, remembering what it feels like to experience simple joy from his brother. A lost pastime, for sure. 

 

“Well, hey, I just… say… good…” the call faded out again, the white noise creeping into Dean’s head like a pounding ache. 

 

“No, no, no,” he mutters to himself, raising the phone all over the room for reception. He pulls it back to his ear. Silence. “Sam?” 

 

The line cuts out, followed by the lights and the water from Cas’ shower squeaking to a halt after a string of curse words. Dean remains heaving on the bed until he processes what happened; that he had lost the only chance he had at talking to Sam for the last time due to inclement weather. He crushes the phone in his hands and chucks it at the wall, watching it break into a hundred pieces, and he screams at the top of his lungs for the first time since he was an angry teenager bubbling over. Cas creaks open the bathroom door, a towel barely hanging on around his waist and dragging one through his hair, barely able to make out anything through the quick streaks of lightning from the window and the colorful hue everything had from the motel sign outside their window. He could hear Dean crying though, a trembling heap on the floor next to the bed; crouching down, Cas kisses the top of his head. “I know, babe,” he whispers, rubbing his back. “Just let it out.” 

 

And Dean wonders if someone was saying that to the sky right now, too. 

 

The storm carries on until early morning, finally giving way for the sunshine to spill out in thick rays. For breakfast they order two burgers with extra fries and steal the comforters from the motel beds. Dean decides he doesn't want to spend another night of his life in some truck stop, so Cas offers to man the wheel for a change and Dean complies- not very willingly but he _is_ tired of driving. He finds peace for a few minutes by staring out the window and watching the rich green trees flicker by like a film strip. Mindlessly, Cas taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of a different song than what’s playing and speaks up timorously. 

 

“When I was a teenager I ran away a lot. We lived in this big crotchety old house my mother inherited and I remember my bedroom window looked out onto all the acres in the back. If you squinted, it looked like a watercolor painting, just splotches of green and blue melted into one endless canvas. I broke my leg twice.” 

 

“You jumped down?” Dean asked, looking over. “Every time?”

 

Cas nods. 

 

“Where would you go?” 

 

“This guys’ house,” he answers, turning his chin from the windshield towards the window. “It was three miles if I followed the train tracks.”

 

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean watches him flick the blinker to change lanes, clearing his throat. “What was waiting for you when you got there?”

 

“Anything I wanted,” he chuckles, full of bitterness. “Weed, booze, sex. He made sure I spent more of my life numb than I did sober, that’s for shit sure. So he drives up to my house one night blasting Clapton, and I jump down to meet him. My parents’ bedroom was right next to the front door, so… anyway, he’s drunk, like can-barely-see-straight-drunk, and we start slow dancing and laughing and I take the moment right from the present, pluck it like a flower, and bottle it up before I even fully experience it. My mouth felt like it was full of sand- the wet kind, that gets all thick and sticky- and I couldn't remember anything about my life up until that second. I was in love. It was seriously gross.” 

 

“Then what happened?” 

 

“Then we turned into lizards.” Cas scoffs, already tired of the subject. “No, then my Dad came downstairs of course and gave me my first black eye. Next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed. I walked the tracks everyday for two months but he wasn’t there. Sorry if you expected a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

 

“Did you ever see him again?” Dean reaches over for Cas’ hand and squeezes it gently before he pulls away, playing it off as an itch on his forehead. 

 

“Where’s the map?”

 

They pull off I-20 and head into the mountains. Dean toys with the radio knob out of boredom and lands on a fuzzy news report that makes Cas clench. “Northern Texas’ number one radio station here and it seems we are down to the final three, everybody… latest update of the hour… NASA released final statement reporting asteroid will collide around North Asia based on Earth’s current rotation… temperatures spiked drastically in Canada last night, killing fifteen from sudden heat stroke…”

 

“I can’t listen to it,” Cas grumbles, muting the volume. “I don’t want to think about what’s happening out there. Please.” 

 

Dean scoots in his seat as if the air in the car alone makes him uncomfortable and they pull off into a shoulder seconds later, listening to the guzzling engine slowly die down. They sit, hearing each other breathe, feeling each other’s hearts take turns beating. Right now, they’re alive. And the Earth- she’s alive. The trees, the animals, the seas, the mountains. The stories and dreams and memories that float around in the air, frantically searching for a place to go, similar to somebody being evicted. Cas punches the steering wheel one, two, three times, screaming and spitting until veins protrude from his neck and everything is red and heaving. Dean wants to tell him that his throat will hurt like a bitch later if he doesn't calm down, but he lets him finally break. 

 

“Fuck!” Cas screams so loud the windows could burst. He throws off his seatbelt and slams the door behind him, slobbering and stumbling five feet until he drops to his knees and digs his fingers into the mud, pounding mercilessly at the ground. Dean stays in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose, not quite catching what Cas is screaming behind the windows. After a long minute, Castiel stands up, waving his arms around in the air. There’s dirt caked all on his shirt and his jeans are ripped now; tears and saliva fly off his face with every violent jerk of his body. “Fuck you!” 

 

Dean sets up camp in the meantime. He pitches the tent, unfolds the sleeping bags, starts a fire, and lays out the rest of the supplies Kevin let them take. There’s a little river nearby which prompts him to take a walk down, and when he arrives, he strips. Multicolored fish race by his feet and he lays back, floating like he used to do in the bathtub, staring up at the pale blue sky and few clouds floating overhead. Birds chirp every so often in a small reminder to Dean that not everything has changed. 

 

When he gets back to the car, Cas is waiting by the fire, a beer in his hand and several empty cans scattered around him. His breath reeks and he has hardly any voice left when he slurs. “Welcome to the party.”

 

“Jesus, Cas, it’s the middle of the afternoon. I was gone for half an hour!” He gathers all the cans and throws them in the trunk, grabbing one of the sheets they stole while he’s back there and dries off his hair. Cas takes another swig before splashing the remainder of his drink onto the fire, which growls when it grows. He pushes out an obnoxious cackle with his hoarse voice.

 

“Hey!” Dean barks, running over. “Slow down there, Smokey Bear.” 

 

“Forest fires are nothing to joke about, Dean.” Cas burps for an entire thirty seconds and scrambles to his feet. “It’s pretty here. Mountains. Can we go for a hike?”

 

“You can’t even walk straight.”

 

“You don't need to walk straight to hike, you bozo. The paths are curvy.” Dean shuts his eyes, muttering to himself and grabs two bottles of water. 

 

“ _Fine._ Let’s go for a hike.” 

 

Dean trudges while Cas stumbles along in front of him and he only occasionally burns his eyes into Cas’ ass while they walk. He’s amazed that the birds are still chirping on; don’t they know? Thick trees of green pine shade them from scorching sun rays that pour through the branches in bright fragments, capturing both of their attention with beauty. Cas hears the song Sleepwalk by Santo & Johnny every time he looks back at Dean in painfully loud patches as if he was listening to a record that kept skipping and scratching. It was the only record his parents ever kept around the house when he was growing up. The world is whirling until they reach a clearing- a manmade lookout with painted benches and engraved plaques. The music in Cas’ head dims.

 

"Holy shit," Dean breathes, balancing his hands on his thighs to catch his breath. The view was truly spectacular- waves over waves of emerald mountains with a perfectly still shimmering lake of blue just comfortably resting in-between. Everything fit. The sun was blinding, being it was the middle of the day, and the end of the world, and it was hot. Painfully hot. Dean slithered out of his shirt and held it above his eyes as he looked out, Cas coming up to kiss his shoulder, arms around Dean’s glistening waist. 

 

"All this, gone," he says softly, like he was trying not to cry. "Earth was always my favorite creation, and it just pains me- billions of years of evolution just… forgotten? _This_ could never happen again.”

 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Dean interjects, raising his pointer finger to the right. “Wait a second… what is that?” Rocks crunch beneath Cas’ feet as he follows Dean’s finger, brows creasing together when he catches view. “Do you think it’s vacant?” 

 

“Of course it’s vacant. It looks old as hell.” 

 

It was a big house. Big as in two stories, four bedrooms at least, maybe five bath, but not all of them functional at this point, so it didn't matter if the place was a rolling shack. The walls peeled with faded orange curls lining the edges and you could tell the front door was white once upon a time- a much better time. The only thing still relying on this rattling pile of frayed wood were the weeds that slithered for yards up the exterior, curving around the windows and stopping just under the roof, as if the plants were the only thing shackling it to the Earth. 

 

“That must’ve been here long before this became a tourist site,” Dean whispers. “Wanna check it out?” 

 

“Not particularly. I like the camp you set up. And that would mean more walking.” 

 

“You’re the one who wanted to in the first place,” Dean rolls his eyes. “And I bet it has a mattress and semi-functional stovetop.” 

 

“Can we go tomorrow? I feel like I’m going to throw up an entire brewery.” Cas lowers himself onto a log, resting his head against the warm oak. 

 

“There’s less than seventy-two hours left on this planet and you’re procrastinating?” 

 

“It’s a gift,” says Cas, perching up on his elbows to cock his head over at the love of his life. “When the sun shines through your hair like that, you look kinda imaginary.” 

 

Dean drops his eyes to the ground for a few seconds before flickering them back up into Cas’. A blush creeps up on him but it’s impossible to see through the sunburn washed across his skin; he makes his way over to Castiel and lowers onto his knees so they’re face to face. When he moves, the light shifts slightly through, masking over Cas’ lips, nose, eyelashes, freckles. Dean’s never seen anything so blue, not in this lifetime. He’s never seen anything so simply spectacular. 

 

“Don’t get sappy on me.” Dean whispers. “I already love you more than anything.” 

 

“Anything in this entire world?” Cas replies, rubbing their noses together by pulling him closer from the back of his neck. 

 

“Every fucking thing.” Dean kisses him soft and tender, letting the moment sink into their bones and set like stone; as if when he pulled away everything would be different; as if he was shutting his eyes waiting for a storm to pass, desperately clinging to the last good minute before the thunder. They sit on that log until their lips are swollen pink and the sun has long tucked away behind the mountains still burning from her fiery graze. 

 

***

 

Night burns faster than an incense stick and dewey waves of air wane around the campsite when they stretch to their feet in the soft morning light. The colors remaining in the sky from the sunrise resembled the bright side of watercolor pallet if you overwatered it. Their skin smelled earthy and felt raw; a single thought bounced around the tree trunks like a pinball. _Two days._ Forty eight hours till endgame. After cracking open a few granola bars and half a gallon of water, they manage to get the car packed in comfortable silence and head up the road towards the mysterious house. Dean rests his hand on Cas’ knee and quickly finds himself with five shaky fingers laced with his own. 

 

“Did you mean it last night?” Cas asks. 

 

“What?”

 

“That you love me.” 

 

Dean tenses for only a brief second but ultimately shrugs it off. “I know it’s impossible to say that to somebody after a few days, but I wanted to tell you before it was too late. Sorry for jumping the gun, but time is of the essence, right? I know I would’ve said it anyway. You don't have to say it back. I just had to make sure you knew before…”

 

“I love you. I would love you two weeks or ten years from now. Don’t even worry about that.” Both of them blush quietly to themselves. By the time a cloud shades it’s easy way in front of the sun they’re eating lunch, peacefully listening to the sound of trail mix scattering to the floor of the car as they jerk up the steep road leading to the house. Every now and then Cas admires a pocket of flowers tucked away between the wild brush and smiles. In his head, he’s thinking about tomorrow; if it’ll happen in the morning, or creep up during the night. If one second they’ll be lost in laughter when suddenly the ground disintegrates. Or if the lights will go out and no one will even be able to decipher the time of day, which startles him abruptly. Dean reaches over and flicks the air vent away from him. 

 

“Don’t need you shivering on me,” Dean says calmly, tracing a thumb against Cas’ knee like he could hear his disturbing thoughts crash one after another like waves against his skull. But he can’t help it. He wonders if it will happen fast or slow- a silent crack of lighting or suburban quicksand. He thinks about if it will hurt or not. Probably, he concludes, as they slow to a stop in the washed out yellow driveway. 

 

From far away, the torn drain pipe extending up the side or the cracked kitchen window weren't quite as noticeable; nor was the overgrown weeds winding around the front steps like wicker. It’s okay, though, because at least they’re together. Dean kicks the door until the wood splits and they’re inside, surrounded by the rotting smell of mildew and soot. There’s a long tribal carpet with about one-hundred layers of dust atop the hardwood floor that echoes when it creaks, and Cas follows the spiral staircase to the top. Too afraid he’d pass out if he opens the fridge, Dean sets all of their food on the counter then joins Cas upstairs to explore. The walls were navy blue except for the master bedroom, which was one of four, and dark maroon. Cas jumps onto the bed and sinks into it for a moment, moaning. “Definitely beats a sleeping bag.” 

 

Dean plops down next to him, on his back at first but then he shifts onto his side so they’re nose to nose. “So many freckles.”

 

“Mhm,” Dean whispers. “They’re very heavy.”

 

“I like you,” Cas moves in, folding his lips around Dean’s until they can’t kiss through their smiles. “So very much. I don’t think I would ever get tired of this- of you.”

 

“What about when I fart in my sleep?” Dean asks, craning his neck to slip Cas’ earlobe between his teeth. 

 

“You could dutch oven me every night and I wouldn't care.” Dean’s guttural laugh vibrates the milky skin of his neck and he shakes his head.

 

“Be careful what you wish for,” he replies. “What about when I forget to throw away the coffee filter?”

 

“Come on, Winchester, I don’t crumble that easily.”

 

“Alright, fine. I’ll never remember to record your shows _and_ I don't want a dog.” 

 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Cas shoves him, Dean cackling face down into the pillows. “I’m leaving you. Don’t even think about calling me.” Dean grabs him by the hem of his shirt before he can fully escape the bed and wraps his arms around Castiel from behind. He smells faintly like cinnamon, even after all this. He soaks the moment into the pores of his skin so it will always have a place to go; Dean believes if you capture a moment like a butterfly in a jar, it will be yours forever. Sam once told him if you keep a butterfly in a jar it will die after one week, but Dean pretended not to hear him. Cas slips through his hug and Dean’s arms fall to his sides like feathers. A minute later, Cas emerges from the bathroom. Dean hears the faint sound of a bath being drawn and strides up to his lover, snaking his hands around Cas’ waist and pulling him close. His head buries into Dean’s neck like a missing puzzle piece as they slowly begin to dance. They take their time bathing each other, and when it’s over, the house is full of steam. Cas cracks a window but it’s warmer outside than in.

 

“Christ, it’s hotter than I thought it would be. Dont we deserve to be comfortable when the space-time continuum swallows us whole?” Dean complains, tying his damp shirt around his forehead. 

 

“That’s not exactly what’s going to happen, babe. When the asteroid strikes, Earth will probably get obliterated, like a dying star. In a couple million years, the new Earth will just be seeing our destruction. It is hot, though,” Cas chirps in, wiping his neck. “The beach is only ten miles down the road I think.” 

 

“And getting burned to a crisp will probably only hurt a little bit.” Dean replies sarcastically. When Cas thinks he’s turned away, Dean catches him frowning. “But we can drive down if you really want to. Hey, when we come back, maybe it’ll be dark enough to see every single star. That’ll be cool.”

 

Cas stays still for a moment until a trace of a smile lines his cheeks. “Yeah, alright. I’ll get my sunglasses.” Surprisingly, the tall trees managed to block most of the beaming exposure so they could open their eyes painlessly and see without squinting. The air was shockingly still familiar. It felt like home. It smelled like Earth. Dean guzzles a container of gasoline into the hole while Cas fumbles with the music options. He’d uncovered a few lost CD’s tucked away in the cupboards of the house while they were exploring, however the choices were slightly strange. There was a Yiddish folksong CD, which Dean joked about knowing all the lyrics to as he buckled his seatbelt, and a couple unmarked discs in blue cases. He slipped one in and waited for Dean to press on the gas peddle, edging them off the property and down the burning road.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean says, sliding past a stop sign. Cas stops brushing his fingers across Dean’s wrist long enough to grin, “Never.”

 

“Why did you come with me?” 

 

Cas rolls his eyes to the back of his head. “As the youth of today, it is my civil duty to help the elderly in my society. You needed to see your brother, I wanted a ride in the car.”

 

_“_ Don’t call her a car,” Dean interrupts. 

 

“Lick my dick, you asked _me_ a question and you’re interrupting your own answer.”

 

“I want the real answer, asshead.” 

 

“Asshead?” Cas snorts.

 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean groans. “Why’d you come?”

 

“I don’t know! Why do I have to talk about everything? Feelings aren’t discussion flash-cards. They happen sometimes and you do your best as a human being to push them away or else they’ll get in the way. Have you ever noticed that every mental disorder is a mental disorder because it’s internal? It’s _feeling_ based. You feel depressed, you feel anxious, you feel crowded- nothing good ever comes out of feeling. So I just don’t.” Cas explodes. Dean is so grateful, which feels out of place for the situation, but it fills him to the brink. Cas is so intelligent and wiser than he could ever result in being. And Dean is the one who gets to hear it all. “I feel everything with you, and I’m trying not to hate it, that’s all, okay? I came because if I didn’t, my world would've ended before everyone else’s. The minute you pulled out of our neighborhood, everything around me might as well of just collapsed. I was just saving myself from the rubble, is all. There is no one else I’d rather collapse and die in the sun with.” 

 

“What if I didn't turn out to be what you thought I was like?” Dean mumbles, distantly. 

 

“I thought you were hot, Dean. Now I think you are the most wonderful combination of atoms that could have ever been introduced to me. I wouldn't have wanted to leave Earth without getting to love someone like you.” The words leave Cas’ body and dance around in the air before the magnetic field around Dean’s trembling heart lures them in. Their glossy eyes meet for a fleeting moment, before they’re trained back on the road. Another one for Dean’s jar.

 

“This is it, baby,” Dean smiles to the sound of rocks crunching beneath the tires as they pull up to the shore. “Atlantic Ocean, we’re here to come inside you.”

 

“Dean, no, that’s offensive,” Cas grumbles, fiddling with his seatbelt before cracking open the door. He screams when the light penetrates in, scorching upon his skin instantaneously, and Dean’s quick to soothe him. The hum of the waves crashing grows louder and louder the longer they sit. Dean pops his door open. 

 

“Son of a bitch!” 

 

“Actually, after bathing in it for a minute, it’s kind of comforting. Direct sunlight always finds a way to take me back to my childhood. I think it’s because it’s never changed throughout our whole life. She touched you since the day you were born and you remember.” 

 

“You have something deep to say about everything. Do you attend seminars for this shit or?” Dean teases him. When he gazes over at Cas, he looks pure golden. “You’re right, though, as usual. I’m going to step outside. Coming?”

 

“Always.”

 

The doors stretch apart. When their feet make contact with the sand, it nearly drops them to their knees from pain, but it’s too overbearing to even feel it. It’s just a relative element in the universe right now- oxygen, carbon dioxide, the everywhere-burn from the piercing white heat replacing all of their senses. Twenty fingertips find each other and grab on to the other. If they had shadows, they’d make only one. Everything is so full of raw heat their skin starts to shrivel beneath their clothes. They can only scream. 

 

“The last time we held each other through this, the Earth was just being born,” Cas’s voice could be a gust of sandy wind talking against his face and he wouldn't tell the difference. He just focuses on it. “I don’t mean you and I- there’s an unlikely probability we were a love match written in the stars- I mean our atoms. They obviously pull towards each other in a way too strong to ignore. We must have been very important to each other.” 

 

“Cas, I,” Dean yells back. “I’ll look for you.” 

 

“You’ll find me,” Cas roars. “We’ll find each other again.”

 

“I promise.” And that was the last thing Dean Winchester ever said.

 

“I’ll see you soon.” They run forward, screaming until their throats bleed and the world is nothing but a frequency- a high-pitched ear piercing catastrophe. No up, no down, no sense of direction or time or meaning for the first time since forever. Pieces of the sky fall and when they land the ground rumbles as if thunder came from below. Billions of stars in the sky watch in awe at what enfolds; some cry and some laugh, some spread out to make room. The other planets wave, while the sun leans over and for the only time, presses her fiery lips against the surface of her beloved Earth. Every thing that ever was rips apart, yet in space, the demolition is seemingly unnoticeable. She doesn't even make a sound. 

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you thought. it's what keeps me writing.


End file.
